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FRANKLIN 


LIBRARY    ASSOCIATION, 

/FRANKLIN,     N.     Id.  / 


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TICKNOB   AND  FIELDS,  Publishers. 


SOUNDINGS 


FROM    THE    ATLANTIC. 


BY 


OLIVER    WENDELL    HOLMES. 


BOSTON : 

TICKNOR     AND     FIELDS 
1864. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1863,  by 

OLIVER     WENDELL     HOLMES, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


UNIVERSITY    PRESS: 

WELCH,    BIGEI. ow,    AND   COMPANY, 

CAMBRIDGE. 


TO 

JACOB    BIGELOW,    M.  D., 

WHOSE   VARIED   ATTAINMENTS    IN    LITERATURE,    SCIENCE,    AND    ART 

REFLECT   THEIR    MINGLED    LIGHT   ON   THE    PROFESSION 

WHICH    HE    ADORNS, 

THIS    VOLUME    OF    ESSAYS 


Respectfully  Dedicated. 


M221434 


CONTENTS. 


PACK 

BREAD  AND  THE  NEWSPAPER           ....  1 

MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN  "...  24 

THE  STEREOSCOPE  AND  THE  STEREOGRAPH     .         .  124 
SUN-PAINTING  AND  SON-SCULPTURE  ;  WITH  A  STER 
EOSCOPIC    TRIP   ACROSS    THE    ATLANTIC      .            .166 

DOINGS  OF  THE  SUNBEAM   .....  228 

THE  HUMAN  WHEEL,  ITS  SPOKES  AND  FELLOES     .  282 

A  VISIT  TO  THE  AUTOCRAT'S  LANDLADY     .          .  328 
A  VISIT  TO  THE  ASYLUM  FOR  AGED  AND  DECAYED 

PUNSTERS 348 

THE  GREAT  INSTRUMENT     .....  362 

THE  INEVITABLE  TRIAL  401 


BREAD  AND  THE  NEWSPAPER. 


THIS  is  the  new  version  of  the  Panem 
et  Circenses  of  the  Roman  populace. 
It  is  our  ultimatum,  as  that  was  theirs.  They 
must  have  something  to  eat,  and  the  circus- 
shows  to  look  at.  We  must  have  something 
to  eat,  and  the  papers  to  read. 

Everything  else  we  can  give  up.  If  we  are 
rich,  we  can  lay  down  our  carriages,  stay  away 
from  Newport  or  Saratoga,  and  adjourn  the  trip 
to  Europe  sine  die.  If  we  live  in  a  small  way, 
there  are  at  least  new  dresses  and  bonnets  and 
e very-day  luxuries  which  we  can  dispense  with. 
If  the  young  Zouave  of  the  family  looks  smart 
in  his  new  uniform,  its  respectable  head  is  con 
tent,  though  he  himself  grow  seedy  as  a  cara 
way-umbel  late  in  the  season.  He  will  cheer 
fully  calm  the  perturbed  nap  of  his  old  beaver 


&  :      BREAD  AN®,  THE  NEWSPAPER. 

by  patient  brushing  in  place  of  buying  a  new 
one,  if  only  the  Lieutenant's  jaunty  cap  is  what 
it  should  be.  We  all  take  a  pride  in  sharing 
the  epidemic  economy  of  the  time.  Only  bread 
and  the  newspaper  we  must  have,  whatever  else 
we  do  without. 

How  this  war  is  simplifying  our  mode  of 
being  !  We  live  on  our  emotions,  as  the  sick 
man  is  said  in  the  common  speech  to  be  nour 
ished  by  his  fever.  Our  ordinary  mental  food 
has  become  distasteful,  and  what  would  have 
been  intellectual  luxuries  at  other  times,  are 
now  absolutely  repulsive. 

All  this  change  in  our  manner  of  existence 
implies  that  we  have  experienced  some  very 
profound  impression,  which  will  sooner  or  later 
betray  itself  in  permanent  effects  on  the  minds 
and  bodies  of  many  among  us.  We  cannot  for 
get  Corvisart's  observation  of  the  frequency 
with  which  diseases  of  the  heart  were  noticed 
as  the  consequence  of  the  terrible  emotions  pro 
duced  by  the  scenes  of  the  great  French  Revo 
lution.  Laennec  tells  the  story  of  a  convent, 
of  which  he  was  the  medical  director,  where  all 


BREAD  AND  THE  NEWSPAPER.          3 

the  nuns  were  subjected  to  the  severest  pen 
ances  and  schooled  in  the  most  painful  doc 
trines.  They  all  became  consumptive  soon  after 
their  entrance,  so  that,  in  the  course  of  his  ten 
years'  attendance,  all  the  inmates  died  out  two 
or  three  times,  and  were  replaced  by  new  ones. 
He  does  not  hesitate  to  attribute  the  disease 
from  which  they  suffered  to  those  depressing 
moral  influences  to  which  they  were  subjected. 

So  far  we  have  noticed  little  more  than  dis 
turbances  of  the  nervous  system  as  a  conse 
quence  of  the  war  excitement  in  non-comba 
tants.  Take  the  first  trifling  example  which 
comes  to  our  recollection.  A  sad  disaster  to 
the  Federal  army  was  told  the  other  day  in  the 
presence  of  two  gentlemen  and  a  lady.  Both 
the  gentlemen  complained  of  a  sudden  feeling 
at  the  epigastrium,  or,  less  learnedly,  the  pit  of 
the  stomach,  changed  color,  and  confessed  to  a 
slight  tremor  about  the  knees.  The  lady  had  a 
"  grande  revolution"  as  French  patients  say,  — 
went  home,  and  kept  her  bed  for  the  rest  of  the 
day.  Perhaps  the  reader  may  smile  at  the 
mention  of  such  trivial  indispositions,  but  in 


4  BREAD  AND  THE  NEWSPAPER. 

more  sensitive  natures  death  itself  follows  in 
some  cases  from  no  more  serious  cause.  An 
old  gentleman  fell  senseless  in  fatal  apoplexy,  on 
hearing  of  Napoleon's  return  from  Elba.  One 
of  our  early  friends,  who  recently  died  of  the 
same  complaint,  was  thought  to  have  had  his 
attack  mainly  in  consequence  of  the  excitements 
of  the  time. 

We  all  know  what  the  war  fever  is  in  our 
young  men,  —  what  a  devouring  passion  it  be 
comes  in  those  whom  it  assails.  Patriotism  is 
the  fire  of  it,  no  doubt,  but  this  is  fed  with  fuel 
of  all  sorts.  The  love  of  adventure,  the  con 
tagion  of  example,  the  fear  of  losing  the  chance 
of  participating  in  the  great  events  of  the  time, 
the  desire  of  personal  distinction,  all  help  to 
produce  those  singular  transformations  which 
we  often  witness,  turning  the  most  peaceful  of 
our  youth  into  the  most  ardent  of  our  soldiers. 
But  something  of  the  same  fever  in  a  different 
form  reaches  a  good  many  non-combatants,  who 
have  no  thought  of  losing  a  drop  of  precious 
blood  belonging  to  themselves  or  their  families. 
Some  of  the  symptoms  we  shall  mention  are 


DREAD  AND  THE  NEWSPAPER.          5 

almost  universal  ;  they  are  as  plain  in  the  peo 
ple  we  meet  everywhere  as  the  marks  of  an 
influenza,  when  that  is  prevailing. 

The  first  is  a  nervous  restlessness  of  a  very 
peculiar  character.  Men  cannot  think,  or  write, 
or  attend  to  their  ordinary  business.  They 
stroll  up  and  down  the  streets,  or  saunter  out 
upon  the  public  places.  We  confessed  to  an 
illustrious  author  that  we  laid  down  the  volume 
of  his  work  which  we  were  readino-  when  the 

O 

war  broke  out.  It  was  as  interesting  as  a  ro 
mance,  but  the  romance  of  the  past  grew  pale 
before  the  red  light  of  the  terrible  present. 
Meeting  the  same  author  not  long  afterwards, 
he  confessed  that  he  had  laid  down  his  pen  at 
the  same  time  that  we  had  closed  his  book.  He 
could  not  write  about  the  sixteenth  century  any 
more  than  we  could  read  .about  it,  while  the 
nineteenth  was  in  the  very  agony  and  bloody 
sweat  of  its  great  sacrifice'. 

Another  most  eminent  scholar  told  us  in  all 
simplicity  that  he  had  fallen  into  such  a  state 
that  he  would  read  the  same  telegraphic  de 
spatches  over  and  over  again  in  different  papers, 


6          BREAD  AND  THE  NEWSPAPER. 

as  if  they  were  new,  until  he  felt  as  if  he  were 
an  idiot.  Who  did  not  do  just  the  same  thing, 
and  does  not  often  do  it  still,  now  that  the  first 
flush  of  the  fever  is  over?  Another  person 
always  goes  through  the  side  streets  on  his  way 
for  the  noon  extra,  —  he  is  so  afraid  somebody 
will  meet  him  and  tell  the  news  he  wishes  to 
read,  first  on  the  bulletin-board,  and  then  in  the 
great  capitals  and  leaded  type  of  the  newspaper. 
When  any  startling  piece  of  war-news  comes, 
it  keeps  repeating  itself  in  our  minds  in  spite  of 
all  we  can  do.  The  same  trains  of  thought  go 
tramping  round  in  circle  through  the  brain,  like 
the  supernumeraries  that  make  up  the  grand 
army  of  a  stage-show.  Now,  if  a  thought  goes 
round  through  the  brain  a  thousand  times  in  a 
day,  it  will  have  worn  as  deep  a  track  as  one 
which  has  passed  through  it  once  a  week  for 
twenty  years.  This  accounts  for  the  ages  we 
seem  to  have  lived  since  the  twelfth  of  April 
last,  and,  to  state  it  more  generally,  for  that  ex 
post  facto  operation  of  a  great  calamity,  or  any 
very  powerful  impression,  which  we  once  illus 
trated  by  the  image  of  a  stain  spreading  back- 


BREAD  AND  THE  NEWSPAPER.  7 

wards  from  the  leaf  of  life  open  before  us 
through  all  those  which  we  have  already  turned. 

Blessed  are  those  who  can  sleep  quietly  in 
times  like  these !  Yet,  not  wholly  blessed, 
either  ;  for  what  is  more  painful  than  the  awak 
ing  from  peaceful  unconsciousness  to  a  sense 
that  there  is  something  wrong,  —  we  cannot  at 
first  think  what,  —  and  then  groping  our  way 
about  through  the  twilight  of  our  thoughts  until 
we  come  full  upon  the  misery,  which,  like  some 
evil  bird,  seemed  to  have  flown  away,  but  which 
sits  waiting  for  us  on  its  perch  by  our  pillow  in 
the  gray  of  the  morning  ? 

The  converse  of  this  is  perhaps  still  more 
painful.  Many  have  the  feeling  in  their  waking 
hours  that  the  trouble  they  are  aching  with  is, 
after  all,  only  a  dream,  —  if  they  will  rub  their 
eyes  briskly  enough  and  shake  themselves,  they 
will  awake  out  of  it,  and  find  all  their  supposed 
grief  is  unreal.  This  attempt  to  cajole  our 
selves  out  of  an  ugly  fact  always  reminds  us  of 
those  unhappy  flies  who  have  been  indulging  in 
the  dangerous  sweets  of  the  paper  prepared  for 
their  especial  use. 


8  BREAD  AND  THE  NEWSPAPER. 

Watch  one  of  them.  He  does  not  feel  quite 
well,  —  at  least,  he  suspects  himself  of  indis 
position.  Nothing  serious,  —  let  us  just  rub 
our  fore-feet  together,  as  the  enormous  creature 
who  provides  for  us  rubs  his  hands,  and  all  will 
be  right.  He  rubs  them  with  that  peculiar 
twisting  movement  of  his,  and  pauses  for  the 
effect.  No  !  all  is  not  quite  right  yet.  Ah  !  it 
is  our  head  that  is  not  set  on  just  as  it  ought  to 
be.  Let  us  settle  that  where  it  should  be,  and 
then  we  shall  certainly  be  in  good  trim  again. 
So  he  pulls  his  head  about  as  an  old  lady  adjusts 
her  cap,  and  passes  his  fore-paw  over  it  like  a 
kitten  washing  herself.  —  Poor  fellow  !  It  is 
not  a  fancy,  but  a  fact,  that  he  has  to  deal  with. 
If  he  could  read  the  letters  at  the  head  of  the 
sheet,  he  would  see  they  were  Fly-Paper.  —  So 
with  us,  when,  in  our  waking  misery,  we  try  to 
think  we  dream  !  Perhaps  very  young  persons 
may  not  understand  this  ;  as  we  grow  older, 
our  waking  and  dreaming  life  run  more  and 
more  into  each  other. 

Another  symptom  of  our  excited  condition  is 
seen  in  the  breaking  up  of   old  habits.     The 


BREAD  AND  THE  NEWSPAPER.  9 

newspaper  is  as  imperious  as  a  Russian  Ukase  ; 
it  will  be  had,  and  it  will  be  read.  To  this  all 
else  must  give  place.  If  we  must  go  out  at  un 
usual  hours  to  get  it,  we  shall  go,  in  spite  of 
after-dinner  nap  or  evening  somnolence.  If  it 
finds  us  in  company,  it  will  not  stand  on  cere 
mony,  but  cuts  short  the  compliment  and  the 
story  by  the  divine  right  of  its  telegraphic  de 
spatches. 

War  is  a  very  old  story,  but  it  is  a  new  one 
to  this  generation  of  Americans.  Our  own 
nearest  relation  in  the  ascending  line  remembers 
the  Revolution  well.  How  should  she  forget  it  ? 
Did  she  not  lose  her  doll,  which  was  left  behind, 
when  she  was  carried  out  of  Boston,  then  grow 
ing  uncomfortable  by  reason  of  cannon-balls 
dropping  in  from  the  neighboring  heights  at  all 
hours,  —  in  token  of  which  see  the  tower  of 
Brattle-Street  Church  at  this  very  day  ?  War 
in  her  memory  means  '76.  As  for  the  brush  of 
1812,  "  we  did  not  think  much  about  that  "  ; 
and  everybody  knows  that  the  Mexican  business 
did  not  concern  us  much,  except  in  its  political 
1* 


10        BREAD  AND  THE  NEWSPAPER. 

relations.  No  !  War  is  a  new  thing  to  all  of 
us  who  are  not  in  the  last  quarter  of  their  cen 
tury.  We  -are  learning  many  strange  matters 
from  our  fresh  experience.  And  besides,  there 
are  new  conditions  of  existence  which  make  war 
as  it  is  with  us  very  different  from  war  as  it 
has  been. 

The  first  and  obvious  difference  consists  in 
the  fact  that  the  whole  nation  is  now  pene 
trated  by  the  ramifications  of  a  network  of  iron 
nerves  which  flash  sensation  and  volition  back 
ward  and  forward  to  and  from  towns  and  prov 
inces  as  if  they  were  organs  and  limbs  of  a  sin 
gle  living  body.  .  The  second  is  the  vast  system 
of  iron  muscles  which,  as  it  were,  move  the 
limbs  of  the  mighty  organism  one  upon  another. 
What  was  the  railroad-force  which  put  the  Sixth 
Regiment  in  Baltimore  on  the  19th  of  April 
but  a  contraction  and  extension  of  the  arm  of 
Massachusetts  with  a  clenched  fist  full  of  bayo 
nets  at  the  end  of  it  ? 

This  perpetual  intercommunication,  joined  to 
the  power  of  instantaneous  action,  keeps  us  al 
ways  alive  with  excitement.  It  is  not  a  breath- 


DREAD  AND  THE  NEWSPAPER.         11 

less  courier  who  comes  back  with  the  report 
from  an  army  we  have  lost  sight  of  for  a  month, 
nor  a  single  bulletin  which  tells  us  all  we  are  to 
know  for  a  week  of  some  great  engagement, 
but  almost  hourly  paragraphs,  laden  with  truth 
or  falsehood  as  the  case  may  be,  making  us  rest 
less  always  for  the  last  fact  or  rumor  they  are 
tellino-.  And  so  of  the  movements  of  our  ar- 

O 

mies.  To-night  the  stout  lumbermen  of  Maine 
are  encamped  under  their  own  fragrant  pines. 
In  a  score  or  two  of  hours  they  are  among  the 
tobacco-fields  and  the  slave-pens  of  Virginia. 
The  war  passion  burned  like  scattered  coals  of 
fire  in  the  households  of  Revolutionary  times ; 
now  it  rushes  all  through  the  land  like  a  flame 
over  the  prairie.  And  this  instant  diffusion  of 
every  fact  and  feeling  produces  another  singular 
effect  in  the  equalizing  and  steadying  of  public 
opinion.  We  may  not  be  able  to  see  a  month 
ahead  of  us ;  but  as  to  what  has  passed,  a 
week  afterwards  it  is  as  thoroughly  talked  out 
and  judged  as  it  would  have  been  in  a  whole 
season  before  our  national  nervous  system  was 
organized. 


12         BREAD  AND  THE  NEWSPAPER. 

"  As  the  wild  tempest  wakes  the  slumbering  sea, 
Thou  only  teachest  all  that  man  can  be !  " 

We  indulged  in  the  above  apostrophe  to  War 
in  a  Phi  Beta  Kappa  poem  of  long  ago,  which 
we  liked  better  before  we  read  Mr.  Cutler's 
beautiful  prolonged  lyric  delivered  at  the  recent 
anniversary  of  that  Society. 

Oftentimes,  in  paroxysms  of  peace  and  good 
will  towards  all  mankind,  we  have  felt  twinges 
of  conscience  about  the  passage,  —  especially 
when  one  of  our  orators  showed  us  that  a  ship 
of  war  costs  as  much  to  build  and  keep  as  a 
college,  and  that  every  port-hole  we  could  stop 
would  give  us  a  new  professor.  Now  we  begin 
to  think  that  there  was  some  meaning  in  our 
poor  couplet.  War  has  taught  us,  as  nothing 
else  could,  what  we  can  be  and  are.  It  has 
exalted  our  manhood  and  our  womanhood,  and 
driven  us  all  back  upon  our  substantial  human 
qualities,  for  a  long  time  more  or  less  kept  out 
of  sight  by  the  spirit  of  commerce,  the  love  of 
art,  science,  or  literature,  or  other  qualities  not 
belonging  to  all  of  us  as  men  and  women. 

It  is  at  this  very  moment  doing  more  to  melt 


BREAD  AND  THE  NEWSPAPER.         13 

away  the  petty  social  distinctions  which  keep 
generous  souls  apart  from  each  other,  than  the 
preaching  of  the  Beloved  Disciple  himself  would 
do.  We  are  finding  out  that  not  only  "  patri 
otism  is  eloquence,"  but  that  heroism  is  gentil 
ity.  All  ranks  are  wonderfully  equalized  under 
the  fire  of  a  masked  battery.  The  plain  artisan 
or  the  rough  fireman,  who  faces  the  lead  and 
iron  like  a  man,  is  the  truest  representative  we 
can  show  of  the  heroes  of  Crecy  and  Agincourt. 
And  if  one  of  our  fine  gentlemen  puts  off  his 
straw-colored  kids  and  stands  by  the  other, 
shoulder  to  shoulder,  or  leads  him  on  to  the 
attack,  he  is  as  honorable  in  our  eyes  and  in 
theirs  as  if  he  were  ill-dressed  and  his  hands 
were  soiled  with  labor. 

Even  our  poor  "  Brahmins,"  —  whom  a  critic 
in  ground-glass  spectacles  (the  same  who  grasps 
his  statistics  by  the  blade  and  strikes  at  his  sup 
posed  antagonist  with  the  handle)  oddly  con 
founds  with  the  "  bloated  aristocracy,"  whereas 
they  are  very  commonly  pallid,  undervitalized, 
shy,  sensitive  creatures,  whose  only  birthright 
is  an  aptitude  for  learning,  —  even  these  poor 


14        BREAD  AND  THE  NEWSPAPER. 

New  England  Brahmins  of  ours,  gubvirates  of 
an  organizable  base  as  they  often  are,  count  as 
full  men,  if  their  courage  is  big  enough  for  the 
uniform  which  hangs  so  loosely  about  their  slen 
der  figures. 

A  young  man  was  drowned  not  very  long 
ago  in  the  river  running  under  our  windows.  A 
few  days  afterwards  a  field-piece  was  dragged 
to  the  water's  edge,  and  fired  many  times 
over  the  river.  We  asked  a  bystander,  who 
looked  like  a  fisherman,  what  that  was  for.  It 
was  to  "  break  the  gall,"  he  said,  and  so  bring 
the  drowned  person  to  the  surface.  A  strange 
physiological  fancy  and  a  very  odd  non  sequitur  ; 
but  that  is  not  our  present  point.  A  good  many 
extraordinary  objects  do  really  come  to  the  sur 
face  when  the  great  guns  of  war  shake  the 
waters,  as  when  they  roared  over  Charleston 
harbor. 

Treason  came  up,  hideous,  fit  only  to  be 
huddled  into  its  dishonorable  grave.  But  the 
wrecks  of  precious  virtues,  which  had  been 
covered  with  the  waves  of  prosperity,  came 
up  also.  And  all  sorts  of  unexpected  and  un- 


BREAD  AND  THE  NEWSPAPER.         15 

henrd-of  things,  which  had  lain  unseen  during 
our  national  life  of  fourscore  years,  came  up 
and  are  coming  up  daily,  shaken  from  their  bed 
by  the  concussions  of  the  artillery  bellowing 
around  us. 

It  is  a  shame  to  own  it,  but  there  were  per 
sons  otherwise  respectable  not  unwilling  to  say 
that  they  believed  the  old  valor  of  Revolution 
ary  times  had  died  out  from  among  us.  They 
talked  about  our  own  Northern  people  as  the 
English  in  the  last  centuries  used  to  talk  about 
the  French,  —  Goldsmith's  old  soldier,  it  may 
be  remembered,  called  one  Englishman  good  for 
five  of  them.  As  Napoleon  spoke  of  the  Eng 
lish,  again,  as  a  nation  of  shopkeepers,  so  these 
persons  affected  to  consider  the  multitude  of 
their  countrymen  as  unwarlike  artisans,  —  for 
getting  that  Paul  Revere  taught  himself  the 
value  of  liberty  in  working  upon  gold,  and 
Nathaniel  Greene  fitted  himself  to  shape  armies 
in  the  labor  of  formnor  iron. 

O        O 

These  persons  have  learned  better  now.  The 
bravery  of  our  free  working-people  was  overlaid, 
but  not  smothered  ;  sunken,  but  not  drowned. 


16        BREAD  AND  THE  NEWSPAPER. 

The  hands  which  had  been  busy  conquering 
the  elements  had  only  to  change  their  weapons 
and  their  adversaries,  and  they  were  as  ready 
to  conquer  the  masses  of  living  force  opposed 
to  them  as  they  had  been  to  build  towns,  to 
dam  rivers,  to  hunt  whales,  to  harvest  ice,  to 
hammer  brute  matter  into  every  shape  civiliza 
tion  can  ask  for. 

Another  great  fact  came  to  the  surface,  and  is 
coming  up  every  day  in  new  shapes,  —  that  we 
are  one  people.  It  is  easy  to  say  that  a  man  is 
a  man  in  Maine  or  Minnesota,  but  not  so  easy 
to  feel  it,  all  through  our  bones  and  marrow. 
The  camp  is  deprovincializing  us  very  fast.  Poor 
Winthrop,  marching  with  the  city  Elegants, 
seems  to  have  been  a  little  startled  to  find 
how  wonderfully  human  were  the  hard-handed 
men  of  the  Eighth  Massachusetts.  It  takes  all 
the  nonsense  out  of  everybody,  or  ought  to  do 
it,  to  see  how  fairly  the  real  manhood  of  a  coun 
try  is  distributed  over  its  surface.  And  then, 
just  as  we  are  beginning  to  think  our  own  soil 
has  a  monopoly  of  heroes  as  well  as  of  cotton, 
up  turns  a  regiment  of  gallant  Irishmen,  like 


BREAD  AND  THE  NEWSPAPER.         17 

the  Sixty-Ninth,  to  show  us  that  continen 
tal  provincialism  is  as  bad  as  that  of  Coos 
County,  New  Hampshire,  or  of  Broadway,  New 
York. 

Here,  too,  side  by  side  in  the  same  great 
camp,  are  half  a  dozen  chaplains,  representing 
half  a  dozen  modes  of  religious  belief.  When 
the  masked  battery  opens,  does  the  "  Baptist  " 
Lieutenant  believe  in  his  heart  that  God  takes 
better  care  of  him  than  of  his  "  Congregation- 
alist"  Colonel  ?  Does  any  man  really  suppose, 
that,  of  a  score  of  noble  young  fellows  who 
have  just  laid  down  their  lives  for  their  country, 
the  Homoousians  are  received  to  the  mansions 
of  bliss,  and  the  Homoiousians  translated  from 
the  battle-field  to  the  abodes  of  everlasting: 

O 

woe  ?  War  not  only  teaches  what  man  can 
be,  but  it  teaches  also  what  he  must  not  be.  He 
must  not  be  a  bigot  and  a  fool  in  the  presence 
of  that  day  of  judgment  proclaimed  by  the 
trumpet  which  calls  to  battle,  and  where  a  man 
should  have  but  two  thoughts  :  to  do  his  duty, 
and  trust  his  Maker.  Let  our  brave  dead  come 
back  from  the  fields  where  they  have  fallen  for 


18         BREAD  AND  THE  NEWSPAPER. 

law  and  liberty,  and  if  you  will  follow  them  to 
their  graves,  you  will  find  out  what  the  Broad 
Church  means  ;  the  narrow  church  is  sparing 
of  its  exclusive  formulae  over  the  coffins  wrap 
ped  in  the  flag  which  the  fallen  heroes  had 
defended  !  Very  little  comparatively  do  we 
hear  at  such  times  of  the  dogmas  on  which  men 
differ ;  very  much  of  the  faith  and  trust  in 
which  all  sincere  Christians  can  agree.  It  is  a 
noble  lesson,  and  nothing  less  noisy  than  the 
voice  of  cannon  can  teach  it  so  that  it  shall  be 
heard  over  all  the  angry  cries  of  theological 
disputants. 

Now,  too,  we  have  a  chance  to  test  the  sa 
gacity  of  our  friends,  and  to  get  at  their  prin 
ciples  of  judgment.  Perhaps  most  of  us  will 
agree  that  our  faith  in  domestic  prophets  has 
been  diminished  by  the  experience  of  the  last 
six  months.  We  had  the  notable  predictions 
attributed  to  the  Secretary  of  State,  which  so 
unpleasantly  refused  to  fulfil  themselves.  We 
were  infested  at  one  time  with  a  set  of  ominous- 
looking  seers,  who  shook  their  heads  and  mut 
tered  obscurely  about  some  mighty  preparations 


BREAD  AND  THE  NEWSPAPER.         19 

that  were  making  to  substitute  the  rule  of  the 
minority  for  that  of  the  majority.  Organiza 
tions  were  darkly  hinted  at ;  some  thought  our 
armories  would  be  seized  ;  and  there  are  not 
wanting  ancient  women  in  the  neighboring 
University  town  who  consider  that  the  country 
was  saved  by  the  intrepid  band  of  students  who 
stood  guard,  night  after  night,  over  the  G.  R. 
cannon  and  the  pile  of  balls  in  the  Cambridge 
Arsenal. 

As  a  general  rule,  it  is  safe  to  say  that  the 
best  prophecies  are  those  which  the  sages  remem 
ber  after  the  event  prophesied  of  has  come  to 
pass,  and  remind  us  that,  they  have  made  long 
ago.  Those  who  are  rash  enough  to  predict 
publicly  beforehand  commonly  give  us  what 
they  hope,  or  what  they  fear,  or  some  conclu 
sion  from  an  abstraction  of  their  own,  or  some 
guess  founded  on  private  information  not  half  so 
good  as  what  everybody  gets  who  reads  the 
papers,  —  never  by  any  possibility  a  word  that 
we  can  depend  on,  simply  because  there  are 
cobwebs  of  contingency  between  every  to-day 
and  to-morrow  that  no  field-glass  can  penetrate 


20         BREAD  AND  THE  NEWSPAPER. 

when  fifty  of  them  lie  woven  one  over  another. 
Prophesy  as  much  as  you  like,  but  always  hedge. 
Say  that  you  think  the  rebels  are  weaker  than 
is  commonly  supposed,  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
that  they  may  prove  to  be  even  stronger  than  is 
anticipated.  Say  what  you  like,  — :  only  don't 
be  too  peremptory  and  dogmatic  ;  we  know  that 
wiser  men  than  you  have  been  notoriously  de 
ceived  in  their  predictions  in  this  very  matter. 

Ibis  et  redibis  nunquam  in  bello  peribis. 

Let  that  be  your  model ;  and  remember,  on 
peril  of  your  reputation  as  a  prophet,  not  to  put 
a  stop  before  or  after  the  nunquam. 

There  are  two  or  three  facts  connected  with 
time,  besides  that  already  referred  to,  which 
strike  us  very  forcibly  in  their  relation  to  the 
great  events  passing  around  us.  We  spoke  of 
the  long  period  seeming  to  have  elapsed  since 
this  war  began.  The  buds  were  then  swelling 
which  held  the  leaves  that  are  still  green.  It 
seems  as  old  as  Time  himself.  We  cannot  fail 
to  observe  how  the  mind  brings  together  the 
scenes  of  to-day  and  those  of  the  old  Revolu 
tion.  We  shut  up  eighty  years  into  each  other 


BREAD  AND  THE  NEWSPAPER.         21 

like  the  joints  of  a  pocket-telescope.  When  the 
young  men  from  Middlesex  dropped  in  Balti 
more  the  other  day,  it  seemed  to  bring  Lexing 
ton  and  the  other  Nineteenth  of  April  close  to 
us.  War  has  always  been  the  mint  in  which 
the  world's  history  has  been  coined,  and  now 
every  day  or  week  or  month  has  a  new  medal 
for  us.  It  was  Warren  that  the  first  impression 
bore  in  the  last  great  coinage  ;  if  it  is  Ellsworth 
now,  the  new  face  hardly  seems  fresher  than  the 
old.  All  battle-fields  are  alike  in  their  main 
features.  The  young  fellows  who  fell  in  our 
earlier  struggle  seemed  like  old  men  to  us  until 
within  these  few  months  ;  now  we  remember 
they  were  like  these  fiery  youth  we  are  cheer 
ing  as  they  go  to  the  fight ;  it  seems  as  if  the 
grass  of  our  bloody  hillside  was  crimsoned  but 
yesterday,  and  the  cannon-ball  imbedded  in  the 
church-tower  would  feel  warm,  if  we  laid  our 
hand  upon  it. 

Nay,  in  this  our  quickened  life  we  feel  that  all 
the  battles  from  earliest  time  to  our  own  day, 
where  Right  and  Wrong  have  grappled,  are 
but  one  great  battle,  varied  with  brief  pauses  or 
hasty  bivouacs  upon  the  field  of  conflict.  The 


22        BREAD  AND  THE  NEWSPAPER. 

issues  seem  to  vary,  but  it  is  always  a  right 
against  a  claim,  and,  however  the  struggle  of 
the  hour  may  go,  a  movement  onward  of  the 
campaign,  which  uses  defeat  as  well  as  victory 
to  serve  its  mighty  ends.  The  very  weapons  of 
our  warfare  change  less  than  we  think.  Our 
bullets  and  cannon-balls  have  lengthened  into 
bolts  like  those  which  whistled  out  of  old  arba 
lests.  Our  soldiers  fight  with  bowie-knives, 
such  as  are  pictured  on  the  walls  of  Theban 
tombs,  wearing  a  newly  invented  head-gear  as 
old  as  the  days  of  the  Pyramids. 

Whatever  miseries  this  war  brings  upon  us, 
it  is  making  us  wiser,  and,  we  trust,  better. 
Wiser,  for  we  are  learning  our  weakness,  our 
narrowness,  our  selfishness,  our  ignorance,  in 
lessons  of  sorrow  and  shame.  Better,  because 
all  that  is  noble  in  men  and  women  is  demand 
ed  by  the  time,  and  our  people  are  rising  to  the 
standard  the  time  calls  for.  For  this  is  the 
question  the  hour  is  putting  to  each  of  us  :  Are 
you  ready,  if  need  be,  to  sacrifice  all  that  you 
have  and  hope  for  in  this  world,  that  the  gener 
ations  to  follow  you  may  inherit  a  whole  coun 
try  whose  natural  condition  shall  be  peace,  and 


BREAD  AND  THE  NEWSPAPER.        23 

not  a  broken  province  which  must  live  under 
the  perpetual  threat,  if  not  in  the  constant 
presence,  of  war  and  all  that  war  brings  with 
it  ?  If  we  are  all  ready  for  this  sacrifice,  bat 
tles  may  be  lost,  but  the  campaign  and  its  grand 
object  must  be  won. 

Heaven  is  very  kind  in  its  way  of  putting 
questions  to  mortals.  We  are  not  abruptly 
asked  to  give  up  all  that  we  most  care  for,  in 
view  of  the  momentous  issues  before  MS.  Per 
haps  we  shall  never  be  asked  to  give  up  all,  but 
we  have  already  been  called  upon  to  part  with 
much  that  is  dear  to  us,  and  should  be  ready  to 
yield  the  rest  as  it  is  called  for.  The  time  may 
come  when  even  the  cheap  public  print  shall  be 
a  burden  our  means  cannot  support,  and  we  can 
only  listen  in  the  square  that  was  once  the  mar 
ket-place  to  the  voices  of  those  who  proclaim 
defeat  or  victory.  Then  there  will  be  only  our 
daily  food  left.  When  we  have  nothing  to  read 
and  nothing  to  eat,  it  will  be  a  favorable  mo 
ment  to  offer  a  compromise.  At  present  we 
have  all  that  nature  absolutely  demands,  —  we 
can  live  on  bread  and  the  newspaper. 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN." 


IN  the  dead  of  the  night  which  closed  upon 
the  bloody  field  of  Antietam,  my  house 
hold  was 'startled  from  its  slumbers  by  the  loud 
summons  of  a  telegraphic  messenger.  The  air 
had  been  heavy  all  day  with  rumors  of  battle, 
and  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  had  walked 
the  streets  with  throbbing  hearts,  in  dread  an 
ticipation  of  the  tidings  any  hour  might  bring. 
We  rose  hastily,  and  presently  the  messenger 
was  admitted.  I  took  the  envelope  from  his 
hand,  opened  it,  and  read  :  — 

HAGEESTOWN  17th 

To H 

Capt  H wounded  shot  through  the  neck 

thought  not  mortal  at  Keedysville 

WILLIAM  G  LEDUC 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  »  THE  CAPTAIN."     25 

Through  the  neck,  —  no  bullet  left  in  wound. 
Windpipe,  food-pipe,  carotid,  jugular,  half  a 
dozen  smaller,  but  still  formidable  vessels,  a 
great  braid  of  nerves,  each  as  big  as  a  lamp- 
wick,  spinal  cord,  —  ought  to  kill  at  once,  if 
at  all.  Thought  not  mortal,  or  not  thought  mor 
tal,  —  which  was  it  ?  The  first  ;  that  is  better 
than  the  second  would  be.  —  "  Keedysville,  a 
post-office,  Washington  Co.,  Maryland."  Le- 
duc  ?  Leduc  ?  Don't  remember  that  name.  - 
The  boy  is  waiting  for  his  money.  A  dollar 
and  thirteen  cents.  Has  nobody  got  thirteen 
cents  ?  Don't  keep  that  boy  waiting,  —  how  do 
we  know  what  messages  he  has  got  to  carry  ? 

The  boy  had  another  message  to  carry.  It 
was  to  the  father  of  Lieutenant-Colonel  Wilder 
D wight,  informing  him  that  his  son  was  griev 
ously  wounded  in  the  same  battle,  and  was  ly 
ing  at  Boonsborough,  a  town  a  few  miles  this 
side  of  Keedysville.  This  I  learned  the  next 
morning  from  the  civil  and  attentive  officials  at 
the  Central  Telegraph-Office. 

Calling  upon  this  gentleman,  I  found  that  he 
meant  to  leave  in  the  quarter  past  two  o'clock 


26     MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN." 

train,  taking  with  him  Dr.  George  H.  Gay,  an 
accomplished  and  energetic  surgeon,  equal  to 
any  difficult  question  or  pressing  emergency.  I 
agreed  to  accompany  them,  and  we  met  in  the 
cars.  I  felt  myself  peculiarly  fortunate  in  hav 
ing  companions  whose  society  would  be  a  pleas 
ure,  whose  feelings  would  harmonize  with  my 
own,  and  whose  assistance  I  might,  in  case  of 
need,  he  glad  to  claim. 

It  is  of  the  journey  which  we  began  together, 
and  which  I  finished  apart,  that  I  mean  to  give 
my  "  Atlantic  "  readers  an  account.  They 
must  let  me  tell  my  story  in  my  own  way, 
speaking  of  many  little  matters  that  interested 
or  amused  me,  and  which  a  certain  leisurely 
class  of  elderly  persons,  who  sit  at  their  firesides 
and  never  travel,  will,  I  hope,  follow  with  a 
kind  of  interest.  For,  besides  the  main  object 
of  my  excursion,  I  could  not  help  being  excited 
by  the  incidental  sights  and  occurrences  of  a 
trip  which  to  a  commercial  traveller  or  a  news 
paper-reporter  would  seem  quite  commonplace 
and  undeserving  of  record.  There  are  periods 
in  which  all  places  and  people  seem  to  be  in  a 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN."     27 

conspiracy  to  impress  us  with  their  individuali 
ty?  —  in  which  every  ordinary  locality  seems  to 
assume  a  special  significance  and  to  claim  a  par 
ticular  notice,  —  in  which  every  person  we  meet 
is  either  an  old  acquaintance  or  a  character  ; 
days  in  which  the  strangest  coincidences  are  con 
tinually  happening,  so  that  they  get  to  be  the 
rule,  and  not  the  exception.  Some  miVht  natu 
rally  think  that  anxiety  and  the  weariness  of  a 
prolonged  search  after  a  near  relative  would 
have  prevented  my  taking  any  interest  in  or 
paying  any  regard  to  the  little  matters  around 
me.  Perhaps  it  had  just  the  contrary  effect,  and 
acted  like  a  diffused  stimulus  upon  the  attention. 
When  all  the  faculties  are  wide-awake  in  pur 
suit  of  a  single  object,  or  fixed  in  the  spasm  of 
an  absorbing  emotion,  they  are  oftentimes  clair 
voyant  in  a  marvellous  degree  in  respect  to 
many  collateral  things,  as  Wordsworth  has  so 
forcibly  illustrated  in  his  sonnet  on  the  Boy  of 
Windermere,  and  as  Hawthorne  has  developed 
with  such  metaphysical  accuracy  in  that  chap 
ter  of  his  wondrous  story  where  Hester  walks 
forth  to  meet  her  punishment. 


28     MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN." 

Be  that  as  it  may,  —  though  I  set  out  with  a 
full  and  heavy  heart,  though  many  times  my 
blood  chilled  with  what  were  perhaps  needless 
and  unwise  fears,  though  I  broke  through  all 
my  habits  without  thinking  about  them,  which 
is  almost  as  hard  in  certain  circumstances  as  for 
one  of  our  young  fellows  to  leave  his  sweet 
heart  and  go  into  a  Peninsular  campaign,  though 
I  did  not  always  know  when  I  was  hungry  nor 
discover  that  I  was  thirsting,  though  I  had  a 
worrying  ache  and  inward  tremor  underlying 
all  the  outward  play  of  the  senses  and  the  mind, 
yet  it  is  the  simple  truth  that  I  did  look  out  of 
the  car-windows  with  an  eye  for  all  that  passed, 
that  I  did  take  cognizance  of  strange  sights  and 
singular  people,  that  I  did  act  much  as  persons 
act  from  the  ordinary  promptings  of  curiosity, 
and  from  time  to  time  even  laugh  very  nearly 
as  those  do  who  are  attacked  with  a  convulsive 
sense  of  the  ridiculous,  the  epilepsy  of  the 
diaphragm. 

By  a  mutual  compact,  we  talked  little  in  the 
cars.  A  communicative  friend  is  the  greatest 
nuisance  to  have  at  one's  side  during  a  railroad- 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN."     29 

journey,  especially  if  his  conversation  is  stimu 
lating  and  in  itself  agreeable.  "  A  fast  train 
and  a  '  slow  '  neighbor,"  is  my  motto.  Many 
times,  when  I  have  got  upon  the  cars,  expecting 
to  be  magnetized  into  an  hour  or  two  of  blissful 
reverie,  my  thoughts  shaken  up  by  the  vibra 
tions  into  all  sorts  of  new  and  pleasing  patterns, 
arranging  themselves  in  curves  and  nodal 
points,  like  the  grains  of  sand  in  Chladni's  fa 
mous  experiment,  —  fresh  ideas  coming  up  to 
the  surface,  as  the  kernels  do  when  a  measure 
of  corn  is  jolted  in  a  farmer's  wagouj  —  all  this 
without  volition,  the  mechanical  impulse  alone 
keeping  the  thoughts  in  motion,  as  the  mere  act 
of  carrying  certain  watches  in  the  pocket  keeps 
them  wound  up,  —  many  times,  I  say,  just  as 
my  brain  was  beginning  to  creep  and  hum  with 
this  delicious  locomotive  intoxication,  some  dear 
detestable  friend,  cordial,  intelligent,  social,  ra 
diant,  has  come  up  and  sat  down  by  me  and 
opened  a  conversation  which  has  broken  my 
day-dream,  unharnessed  the  flying  horses  that 
were  whirling  along  my  fancies  and  hitched  on 
the  old  weary  omnibus-team  of  e very-day  as- 


30     MY  HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN." 

sociations,  fatigued  my  hearing  and  attention, 
exhausted  my  voice,  and  milked  the  breasts  of 
my  thought  dry  during  the  hour  when  they 
should  have  been  filling  themselves  full  of  fresh 
juices.  My  friends  spared  me  this  trial. 

So,  then,  I  sat  by  the  window  and  enjoyed 
the  slight  tipsiness  produced  by  short,  limited, 
rapid  oscillations,  which  I  take  to  be  the  exhil 
arating  stage  of  that  condition  which  reaches 
hopeless  inebriety  in  what  we  know  as  sea-sick 
ness.  Where  the  horizon  opened  widely,  it 
pleased  me  to  watch  the  curious  effect  of  the 
rapid  movement  of  near  objects  contrasted  with 
the  slow  motion  of  distant  ones.  Looking  from 
a  right-hand  window,  for  instance,  the  fences 
close  by  glide  swiftly  backward,  or  to  the  right, 
while  the  distant  hills  not  only  do  not  appear  to 
move  backward,  but  look  by  contrast  with  the 
fences  near  at  hand  as  if  they  were  moving  for 
ward,  or  to  the  left ;  and  thus  the  whole  land 
scape  becomes  a  mighty  wheel  revolving  about 
an  imaginary  axis  somewhere  in  the  middle- 
distance. 

My  companions  proposed  to  stay  at  one  of 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN."     31 

the  best-known  and  longest-established  of  the 
New- York  caravansaries,  and  I  accompanied 
them.  We  were  particularly  well  lodged,  and 
not  uncivilly  treated.  The  traveller  who  sup 
poses  that  he  is  to  repeat  the  melancholy  experi 
ence  of  Shenstone,  and  have  to  sigh  over  the 
reflection  that  he  has  found  "  his  warmest  wel 
come  at  an  inn,"  has  something  to  learn  at  the 
offices  of  the  great  city  hotels.  The  unheralded 
guest  who  is  honored  by  mere  indifference  may 
think  himself  blessed  with  singular  good-for 
tune.  If  the  despot  of  the  Patent- Annunciator 
is  only  mildly  contemptuous  in  his  manner,  let 
the  victim  look  upon  it  as  a  personal  favor. 
The  coldest  welcome  that  a  threadbare  curate 
ever  got  at  the  door  of  a  bishop's  palace,  the 
most  icy  reception  that  a  country  cousin  ever 
received  at  the  city  mansion  of  a  mushroom  mil- 
lionnaire,  is  agreeably  tepid,  compared  to  that 
which  the  Rhadamanthus  who  dooms  you  to  the 
more  or  less  elevated  circle  of  his  inverted  In 
ferno  vouchsafes,  as  you  step  up  to  enter  your 
name  on  his  dog's-eared  register.  I  have  less 
hesitation  in  unburdening  myself  of  this  uncom- 


32     MY  HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN:' 

fortable  statement,  as  on  this  particular  trip  I 
met  with  more  than  one  exception  to  the  rule. 
Officials  become  brutalized,  I  suppose,  as  a  mat 
ter  of  course.  One  cannot  expect  an  office 
clerk  to  embrace  tenderly  every  stranger  who 
comes  in  with  a  carpet-bag,  or  a  telegraph  oper 
ator  to  burst  into  tears  over  every  unpleasant 
message  he  receives  for  transmission.  Still,  hu 
manity  is  not  always  totally  extinguished  in 
these  persons.  I  discovered  a  youth  in  a  tele 
graph-office  of  the  Continental  Hotel,  in  Phila 
delphia,  who  was  as  pleasant  in  conversation, 
and  as  graciously  responsive  to  inoffensive  ques 
tions,  as  if  I  had  been  his  childless  opulent 
uncle  and  my  will  not  made. 

On  the  road  again  the  next  morning,  over 
the  ferry,  into  the  cars  with  sliding  panels  and 
fixed  windows,  so  that  in  summer  the  whole  side 
of  the  car  may  be  made  transparent.  New 
Jersey  is,  to  the  apprehension  of  a  traveller,  a 
double-headed  suburb  rather  than  a  State.  Its 
dull  red  dust  looks  like  the  dried  and  powdered 
mud  of  a  battle-field.  Peach-trees  are  com 
mon,  and  champagne-orchards.  Canal-boats, 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN."     33 

drawn  by  mules,  swim  by,  feeling  their  way 
along  like  blind  men  led  by  dogs.  I  had  a 
mighty  passion  come  over  me  to  be  the  captain 
of  one,  —  to  glide  back  and  forward  upon  a  sea 
never  roughened  by  storms,  —  to  float  where  I 
could  not  sink,  —  to  navigate  where  there  is  no 
shipwreck,  —  to  lie  languidly  on  the  deck  and 
govern  the  huge  craft  by  a  word  or  the  move 
ment  of  a  finger :  there  was  something  of  rail 
road  intoxication  in  the  fancy ;  but  who  has  not 
often  envied  a  cobbler  in  his  stall  ? 

The  boys  cry  the  "  N'-York  Heddk"  instead 
of  "  Herald  "  ;  I  remember  that  years  ago  in 
Philadelphia ;  we  must  be  getting  near  the  far 
ther  end  of  the  dumb-bell  suburb.  A  bridge 
has  been  swept  away  by  a  rise  of  the  waters, 
so  we  must  approach  Philadelphia  by  the  river. 
Her  physiognomy  is  not  distinguished  ;  ncz 
camus,  as  a  Frenchman  would  say  ;  no  illustri 
ous  steeple,  no  imposing  tower  ;  the  water-edge 
of  the  town  looking  bedraggled,  like  the  flounce 
of  a  vulgar  rich  woman's  dress  that  trails  on  the 
sidewalk.  The  New  Ironsides  lies  at  one  of  the 
wharves,  elephantine  in  bulk  and  color,  her 
2*  c 


34     MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN." 

sides  narrowing  as  they  rise,  like  the  walls  of 
a  hock-glass. 

I  went  straight  to  the  house  in  Walnut  Street 
where  the  Captain  would  be  heard  of,  if  any 
where  in  this  region.  His  lieutenant-colonel 
was  there  gravely  wounded  ;  his  college-friend 
and  comrade  in  arms,  a  son  of  the  house,  was 
there,  injured  in  a  similar  way  ;  another  soldier, 
brother  of  the  last,  was  there,  prostrate  with 
fever.  A  fourth  bed  was  waiting  ready  for  the 
Captain,  but  not  one  word  had  been  heard  of 
him,  though  inquiries  had  been  made  in  the 
towns  from  and  through  which  the  father  had 
brought  his  two  sons  and  the  lieutenant-colonel. 
And  so  my  search  is,  like  a  "  Ledger  "  story,  to 
be  continued. 

I  rejoined  my  companions  in  time  to  take  the 
noon-train  for  Baltimore.  Our  company  was 
gaining  in  number  as  it  moved  onwards.  We 
had  found  upon  the  train  from  New  York  a 
lovely,  lonely  lady,  the  wife  of  one  of  our  most 
spirited  Massachusetts  officers,  the  brave  Colonel 

of  the  th  Kegiment,  going  to  seek  her 

wounded  husband  at  Middletown,  a  place  lying 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN."     35 

directly  in  our  track.  She  was  the  light  of  our 
party  while  we  were  together  on  our  pilgrim 
age,  a  fair,  gracious  woman,  gentle,  but.  cour 
ageous, 

"  ful  plesant  and  amiable  of  port, 

estatelich  of  manere, 

And  to  ben  holden  digue  of  reverence." 

On  the  road  from  Philadelphia,  I  found  in 
the  same  car  with  our  party  Dr.  William  Hunt, 
of  Philadelphia,  who  had  most  kindly  and  faith 
fully  attended  the  Captain,  then  the  Lieutenant, 
after  a  wound  received  at  Ball's  Bluff,  which 
came  very  near  being  mortal.  He  was  going 
upon  an  errand  of  mercy  to  the  wounded,  and 
found  he  had  in  his  memorandum-book  the 
name  of  our  lady's  husband,  the  Colonel,  who 
had  been  commended  to  his  particular  attention. 

Not  long  after  leaving  Philadelphia,  we  passed 
a  solitary  sentry  keeping  guard  over  a  short 
railroad-bridge.  It  was  the  first  evidence  that 
we  were  approaching  the  perilous  borders,  the 
marches  where  the  North  and  the  South  mingle 
their  angry  hosts,  where  the  extremes  of  our 
so-called  civilization  meet  in  conflict,  and  the 
tierce  slave-driver  of  the  Lower  Mississippi 


36     MY  HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN." 

stares  into  the  stern  eyes  of  the  forest-feller 
from  the  banks  of  the  Aroostook.  All  the  way 
along,,  the  bridges  were  guarded  more  or  less 
strongly.  In  a  vast  country  like  ours,  commu 
nications  play  a  far  more  complex  part  than  in 
Europe,  where  the  whole  territory  available  for 
strategic  purposes  is  so  comparatively  limited. 
Belgium,  for  instance,  has  long  been  the  bowl 
ing-alley  where  kings  roll  cannon-balls  at  each 
other's  armies  ;  but  here  we  are  playing  the 
game  of  live  ninepins  without  any  alley. 

We  were  obliged  to  stay  in  Baltimore  over 
night,  as  we  were  too  late  for  the  train  to  Fred 
erick.  At  the  Eutaw  House,  where  we  found 
both  comfort  and  courtesy,  we  met  a  number  of 
friends,  who  beguiled  the  evening  hours  for  us 
in  the  most  agreeable  manner.  We  devoted 
some  time  to  procuring  surgical  and  other  arti 
cles,  such  as  might  be  useful  to  our  friends,  or 
to  others,  if  our  friends  should  not  need  them. 
In  the  morning,  I  found  myself  seated  at  the 
breakfast-table  next  to  General  Wool.  It  did 
not  surprise  me  to  find  the  General  very  far 
from  expansive.  With  Fort  McHenry  on  his 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN."     37 

shoulders  and  Baltimore  in  his  breeches-pocket, 
and  the  weight  of  a  military  department  loading 
down  his  social  safety-valves,  I  thought  it  a 
great  deal  for  an  officer  in  his  trying  position  to 
select  so  very  obliging  and  affable  an  aid  as  the 
gentleman  who  relieved  him  of  the  burden  of 
attending  to  strangers. 

We  left  the  Eutaw  House,  to  take  the  cars 
for  Frederick.  As  we  stood  waiting  on  the 
platform,  a  telegraphic  message  was  handed  in 
silence  to  my  companion.  Sad  news  :  the  life 
less  body  of  the  son  he  was  hastening  to  see  was 
even  now  on  its  way  to  him  in  Baltimore.  It 
was  no  time  for  empty  words  of  consolation  :  I 
knew  what  he  had  lost,  and  that  now  was  not 
the  time  to  intrude  upon  a  grief  borne  as  men 
bear  it,  felt  as  women  feel  it. 

Colonel  Wilder  Dwight  was  first  made  known 
to  me  as  the  friend  of  a  beloved  relative  of  my 
own,  who  was  with  him  during  a  severe  illness 
in  Switzerland,  and  for  whom  while  living,  and 
for  whose  memory  when  dead,  he  retained  the 
warmest  affection.  Since  that,  the  story  of  his 
noble  deeds  of  daring,  of  his  capture  and  es- 


38     MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN." 

cape,  and  a  brief  visit  home  before  he  was  able 
to  rejoin  his  regiment,  had  made  his  name  fa 
miliar  to  many  among  us,  myself  among  the 
number.  His  memory  has  been  honored  by 
those  who  had  the  largest  opportunity  of  know 
ing  his  rare  promise,  as  a  man  of  talents  and 
energy  of  nature.  His  abounding  vitality  must 
have  produced  its  impression  on  all  who  met 
him  ;  there  was  a  still  fire  about  him  which  any 
one  could  see  would  blaze  up  to  melt  all  difficul 
ties  and  recast  obstacles  into  implements  in  the 
mould  of  an  heroic  will.  These  elements  of  his 
character  many  had  the  chance  of  knowing  ; 
but  I  shall  always  associate  him  with  the  mem 
ory  of  that  pure  and  noble  friendship  which 
made  me  feel  that  I  knew  him  before  I  looked 
upon  his  face,  and  added  a  personal  tenderness 
to  the  sense  of  loss  which  I  share  with  the 
whole  community. 

Here,  then,  I  parted,  sorrowfully,  from  the 
companions  with  whom  I  set  out  on  my  jour 
ney. 

In  one  of  the  cars,  at  the  same  station,  we 
met  General  Shriver,  of  Frederick,  a  most  loyal 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN."     39 

% 

Unionist,  whose  name  is  synonymous  with  a 
hearty  welcome  to  all  whom  he  can  aid  by  his 
counsel  and  his  hospitality.  He  took  great 
pains  to  give  us  all  the  information  we  needed, 
and  expressed  the  hope,  which  was  afterwards 
fulfilled,  to  the  great  gratification  of  some  of  us, 
that  we  should  meet  again  when  he  should  re 
turn  to  his  home. 

There  was  nothing  worthy  of  special  note  in 
the  trip  to  Frederick,  except  our  passing  a  squad 
of  Rebel  prisoners,  whom  I  missed  seeing,  as 
they  flashed  by,  but  who  were  said  to  be  a  most 
forlorn-looking  crowd  of  scarecrows.  Arrived 
at  the  Monocacy  River,  about  three  miles  this 
side  of  Frederick,  we  came  to  a  halt,  for  the 
railroad-bridge  had  been  blown  up  by  the  Reb 
els,  and  its  iron  pillars  and  arches  were  lying 
in  the  bed  of  the  river.  The  unfortunate 
wretch  who  fired  the  train  was  killed  by  the 
explosion,  and  lay  buried  hard  by,  his  hands 
sticking  out  of  the  shallow  grave  into  which  he 
had  been  huddled.  This  was  the  story  they 
told  us,  but  whether  true  or  not  I  must  leave 
to  the  correspondents  of  "  Notes  and  Queries  " 
to  settle. 


40     MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN." 

• 

'There  was  a  great  confusion  of  carriages  and 
wagons  at  the  stopping-place  of  the  train,  so 
that  it  was  a  long  time  before  I  could  get  any 
thing  that  would  carry  us.  At  last  I  was  lucky 
enough  to  light  on  a  sturdy  wagon,  drawn  by  a 
pair  of  serviceable  bays,  and  driven  by  James 
Gray  den,  with  whom  I  was  destined  to  have  a 
somewhat  continued  acquaintance.  We  took 
up  a  little  girl  who  had  been  in  Baltimore 
during  the  late  Rebel  inroad.  It  made  me 
think  of  the  time  when  my  own  mother,  at  that 
time  six  years  old,  was  hurried  off  from  Boston, 
then  occupied  by  the  British  soldiers,  to  New- 
buryport,  and  heard  the  people  saying  that  "  the 
redcoats  were  coming,  killing  and  murdering 
everybody  as  they  went  along."  Frederick 
looked  cheerful  for  a  place  that  had  so  recently 
been  in  an  enemy's  hands.  Here  and  there  a 
house  or  shop  was  shut  up,  but  the  national 
colors  were  waving  in  all  directions,  and  the 
general  aspect  was  peaceful  and  contented.  I 
saw  no  bullet-marks  or  other  sign  of  the  fight- 
in^  which  had  gone  on  in  the  streets.  The 
Colonel's  lady  was  taken  in  charge  by  a  daugh- 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN."     41 

ter  of  that  hospitable  family  to  which  we  had 
been  commended  by  its  head,  and  I  proceeded 
to  inquire  for  wounded  officers  at  the  various 
temporary  hospitals. 

At  the  United  States  Hotel,  where  many 
were  lying,  I  heard  mention  of  an  officer  in  an 
upper  chamber,  and,  going  there,  found  Lieu 
tenant  Abbott,  of  the  Twentieth  Massachusetts 
Volunteers,  lying  ill  with  what  looked  like  ty 
phoid  fever.  While  there,  who  should  come  in 
but  the  almost  ubiquitous  Lieutenant  Wilkins, 
of  the  same  Twentieth,  whom  I  had  met  repeat 
edly  before  on  errands  of  kindness  or  duty, 
and  who  was  just  from  the  battle-ground.  He 
was  going  to  Boston  in  charge  of  the  body  of 
the  lamented  Dr.  Revere,  the  Assistant  Surgeon 
of  the  regiment,  killed  on  the  field.  From  his 
lips  I  learned  something  of  the  mishaps  of  the 
regiment.  My  Captain's  wound  he  spoke  of 
as  less  grave  than  at  first  thought ;  but  he 
mentioned  incidentally  having  heard  a  storv 
recently  that  he  was  killed,  —  a  fiction,  doubt 
less,  —  a  mistake,  —  a  palpable  absurdity,  — 
not  to  be  remembered  or  "made  any  account 


42     MY  HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN." 

of.  O  no  !  but  what  dull  ache  is  this  in  that 
obscurely  sensitive  region,  somewhere  below 
the  heart,  where  the  nervous  centre  called 
the  semilunar  ganglion  lies  unconscious  of 
itself  until  a  great  grief  or  a  mastering  anxi 
ety  reaches  it  through  all  the  non-conductors 
which  isolate  it  from  ordinary  impressions? 
I  talked  awhile  with  Lieutenant  Abbott,  who 
lay  prostrate,  feeble,  but  soldier-like  and  un 
complaining,  carefully  waited  upon  by  a  most 
excellent  lady,  a  captain's  wife,  New-England- 
born,  loyal  as  the  Liberty  on  a  golden  ten- 
dollar  piece,  and  of  lofty  bearing  enough  to 
have  sat  for  that  goddess's  portrait.  She  had 
stayed  in  Frederick  through  the  Rebel  inroad, 
and  kept  the  star-spangled  banner  where  it 
would  be  safe,  to  unroll  it  as  the  last  Rebel 
hoofs  clattered  off  from  the  pavement  of  the 
town. 

Near  by  Lieutenant  Abbott  was  an  unhappy 
gentleman,  occupying  a  small  chamber,  and 
filling  it  with  his  troubles.  When  he  gets  well 
and  plump,  I  know  he  will  forgive  me  if  I  con 
fess  that  I  could  not  help  smiling  in  the  midst 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  »  THE  CAPTAIN."     43 

of  my  sympathy  for  him.  He  had  been  a  well- 
favored  man,  he  said,  sweeping  his  hand  in  a 
semicircle,  which  implied  that  his  acute-angled 
countenance  had  once  filled  the  goodly  curve 
he  described.  He  was  now  a  perfect  Don 
Quixote  to  look  upon.  Weakness  had  made 
him  querulous,  as  it  does  all  of  us,  and  he  piped 
liis  grievances  to  me  in  a  thin  voice,  twith  that 
finish  of  detail  which  chronic  invalidism  alone 
can  command.  He  was  starving,  —  he  could 
not  get  what  he  wanted  to  eat.  He  was  in 
need  of  stimulants,  and  he  held  up  a  pitiful 
two-ounce  phial  containing  three  thimblefuls  of 
brandy,  —  his  whole  stock  of  that  encouraging 
article.  Him  I  consoled  to  the  best  of  my  abil 
ity,  and  afterwards,  in  some  slight  measure, 
supplied  his  wants.  Feed  this  poor  gentleman 
up,  as  these  good  people  soon  will,  and  I  should 
not  know  him,  nor  he  himself.  We  are  all 
egotists  in  sickness  and  debility.  An  animal 
has  been  defined  as  "  a  stomach  ministered  to 
by  organs ; "  and  the  greatest  man  comes  very 
near  this  simple  formula  after  a  month  or  two 
of  fever  and  starvation. 


44     MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN." 

James  Grayden  and  his  team  pleased  me  well 
enough,  and  so  I  made  a  bargain  with  him  to 
take  us,  the  lady  and  myself,  on  our  further 
journey  as  far  as  Middletown.  As  we  were 
about  starting  from  the  front  of  the  United 
States  Hotel,  two  gentlemen  presented  them 
selves  and  expressed  a  wish  to  be  allowed  to 
share  our  conveyance.  I  looked  at  them  and 
convinced  myself  that  they  were  neither  Rebels 
in  disguise,  nor  deserters,  nor  camp-followers, 
nor  miscreants,  but  plain,  honest  men  on  a 
proper  errand.  The  first  of  them  I  will  pass 
over  briefly.  He  was  a  young  man  of  mild  and 
modest  demeanor,  chaplain  to  a  Pennsylvania 
regiment,  which  he  was  going  to  rejoin.  He 
belonged  to  the  Moravian  Church,  of  which  I 
had  the  misfortune  to  know  little  more  than 
what  I  had  learned  from  Southey's  "  Life  of 
Wesley,"  and  from  the  exquisite  hymns  we  have 
borrowed  from  its  rhapsodists.  The  other  stran 
ger  was  a  New-Englander  of  respectable  ap 
pearance,  with  a  grave,  hard,  honest,  hay-beard 
ed  face,  who  had  come  to  serve  the  sick  and 
wounded  on  the  battle-field  and  in  its  immedi- 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN."     45 

ate  neighborhood.  There  is  no  reason  why  I 
should  not  mention  his  name,  but  I  shall  con 
tent  myself  with  calling  him  the  Philanthro 
pist. 

So  we  set  forth,  the  sturdy  wagon,  the  ser 
viceable  bays,  with  James  Grayden  their  driv 
er,  the  gentle  lady,  whose  serene  patience  bore 
up  through  all  delays  and  discomforts,  the 
Chaplain,  the  Philanthropist,  and  myself,  the 
teller  of  this  story. 

And  now,  as  we  emerged  from  Frederick, 
we  struck  at  once  upon  the  trail  from  the  great 
battle-field.  The  road  was  filled  with  straggling 
tfnd  wounded  soldiers.  All  who  could  travel 
on  foot  —  multitudes  with  slight  wounds  of  the 
upper  limbs,  the  head  or  face  —  were  told  to 
take  up  their  beds  — a  light  burden  or  none  at 
all  —  and  walk.  Just  as  the  battle-field  sucks 
everything  into  its  red  vortex  for  the  conflict, 
so  does  it  drive  everything  off  in  long,  diverg 
ing  rays  after  the  fierce  centripetal  forces  have 
met  and  neutralized  each  other.  For  more 
than  a  week  there  had  been  sharp  fighting  -all 
along  this  road.  Through  the  streets  of  Fred- 


46     MY  HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN." 

erick,  through  Crampton's  Gap,  over  South 
Mountain,  sweeping  at  last  the  hills  and  the 
woods  that  skirt  the  windings  of  the  Antietam, 
the  long  battle  had  travelled,  like  one  of  those 
tornadoes  which  tear  their  path  through  our 
fields  and  villages.  The  slain  of  higher  con 
dition,  "  embalmed  "  and  iron-cased,  were  slid 
ing  off  on  the  railways  to  their  far  homes  ;  the 
dead  of  the  rank-and-file  were  being  gathered 
up  and  committed  hastily  to  the  earth  ;  the 
gravely  wounded  were  cared  for  hard  by  the 
scene  of  conflict,  or  pushed  a  little  way  along 
to  the  neighboring  villages  ;  while  those  who 
could  walk  were  meeting  us,  as  I  have  said,  at 
every  step  in  the  road.  It  was  a  pitiable  sight, 
truly  pitiable,  yet  so  vast,  so  far  beyond  the 
possibility  of  relief,  that  many  single  sorrows  of 
small  dimensions  have  wrought  upon  my  feel 
ings  more  than  the  sight  of  this  great  caravan 
of  maimed  pilgrims.  The  companionship  of 
so  many  seemed  to  make  a  joint-stock  of  their 
suffering;  it  was  next  to  impossible  to  indi 
vidualize  it,  and  so  bring  it  home  as  one  can 
do  with  a  single  broken  limb  or  aching  wound. 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN."     47 

Then  they  were  all  of  the  male  sex,  and  in 
the  freshness  or  the  prime  of  their  strength. 
Though  they  tramped  so  wearily  along,  yet 
there  was  rest  and  kind  nursing  in  store  for 
them.  These  wounds  they  bore  would  be  the 
medals  they  would  show  their  children  and 
grandchildren  by  and  by.  Who  would  not 
rather  wear  his  decorations  beneath  his  uni 
form  than  on  it  ? 

Yet  among  them  were  figures  which  arrested 
our  attention  and  sympathy.  Delicate  boys, 
with  more  spirit  than  strength,*  flushed  with 
fever  or  pale  with  exhaustion  or  haggard  with 
suffering,  dragged  their  weary  limbs  along  as  if 
each  step  would  exhaust  their  slender  store  of 
strength.  At  the  roadside  sat  or  lay  others, 
quite  spent  with  their  journey.  Here  and  there 
was  a  house  at  which  the  wayfarers  would  stop, 
in  the  hope,  I  fear  often  vain,  of  getting  re 
freshment  ;  and  in  one  place  was  a  clear,  cool 
spring,  where  the  little  bands  of  the  long  pro 
cession  halted  for  a  few  moments,  as  the  trains 
that  traverse  the  desert  rest  by  its  fountains. 
My  companions  had  brought  a  few  peaches 


48     MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN." 

along  with  them,  which  the  Philanthropist  be 
stowed  upon  the  tired  and  thirsty  soldiers  with 
a  satisfaction  which  we  all  shared.  I  had  with 
me  a  small  flask  of  strong  waters,  to  be  used  as 
a  medicine  in  case  of  inward  grief.  From  this, 
also,  he  dispensed  relief,  without  hesitation,  to 
a  poor  fellow  who  looked  as  if  he  needed  it.  I 
rather  admired  the  simplicity  with  which  he 
applied  my  limited  means  of  solace  to  the  first- 
comer  who  wanted  it  more  than  I ;  a  genuine 
benevolent  impulse  does  not  stand  on  cere 
mony,  and  had  I  perished  of  colic  for  want 
of  a  stimulus  that  night,  I  should  not  have 
reproached  my  friend  the  Philanthropist,  any 
more  than  I  grudged  my  other  ardent  friend 
the  two  dollars  and  more  which  it  cost  me  to 
send  the  charitable  message  he  left  in  my  hands. 
It  was  a  lovely  country  through  which  we 
were  riding.  The  hillsides  rolled  away  into 
the  distance,  slanting  up  fair  and  broad  to  the 
sun,  as  one  sees  them  in  the  open  parts  of  the 
Berkshire  Valley,  at  Lanesborough,  for  instance, 
or  in  the  many-hued  mountain-chalice  at  the 
bottom  of  which  the  Shaker  houses  of  Lebanon 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN."     49 

have  shaped  themselves  like  a  sediment  of  cu 
bical  crystals.  The  wheat  was  all  garnered, 
and  the  land  ploughed  for  a  new  crop.  There 
was  Indian-corn  standing,  but  I  saw  no  pump 
kins  wanning  their  yellow  carapaces  in  the  sun 
shine  like  so  many  turtles ;  only  in  a  single 
instance  did  I  notice  some  wretched  little  minia 
ture  specimens  in  form  and  hue  not  unlike  those 
colossal  oranges  of  our  cornfields.  The  rail- 
fences  were  somewhat  disturbed,  and  the  cin 
ders  of  extinguished  fires  showed  the  use  to 
which  they  had  been  applied.  The  houses 
along  the  road  were  not  for  the  most  part  neat 
ly  kept  ;  the  garden  fences  were  poorly  built 
of  laths  or  long  slats,  and  very  rarely  of  trim 
aspect.  The  men  of  this  region  seemed  to  ride 
in  the  saddle  very  generally,  rather  than  drive. 
They  looked  sober  and  stern,  less  curious  and 
lively  than  Yankees,  and  I  fancied  that  a  type 
of  features  familiar  to  us  in  the  countenance  of 
the  late  John  Tyler,  our  accidental  President, 
was  frequently  met  writh.  The  women  were 
still  more  distinguishable  from  our  New-Eng 
land  pattern.  Soft,  sallow,  succulent,  delicately 
3  D 


50     MY  HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN." 

finished  about  the  mouth  and  firmly  shaped 
about  the  chin,  dark-eyed,  full-throated,  they 
looked  as  if  they  had  been  grown  in  a  land  of 
olives.  There  was  a  little  toss  in  their  move 
ment,  full  of  muliebrity.  I  fancied  there  was 
something  more  of  the  duck  and  less  of  the 
chicken  about  them,  as  compared  with  the 
daughters  of  our  leaner  soil  ;  but  these  are 
mere  impressions  caught  from  stray  glances, 
and  if  there  is  any  offence  in  them,  my  fair 
readers  may  consider  them  all  retracted. 

At  intervals,  a  dead  horse  lay  by  the  road 
side,  or  in  the  fields,  unburied,  not  grateful  to 
gods  or  men.  I  saw  no  bird  of  prey,  no  ill- 
omened  fowl,  on  my  way  to  the  carnival  of 
death,  or  at  the  place  where  it  was  held.  The 
vulture  of  story,  the  crow  of  Talavera,  tho 
"  twa  corbies  "  of  the  ghastly  ballad,  are  all 
from  Nature,  doubtless  ;  but  no  black  wing  was 
spread  over  these  animal  ruins,  and  no  call  to 
the  banquet  pierced  through  the  heavy-laden 
and  sickening  air. 

Full  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  caring  little 
for  whom  or  what  they  met,  came  long  strings 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN."     51 

of  army-wagons,  returning  empty  from  the 
front  after  supplies.  James  Grayden  stated  it 
as  his  conviction  that  they  had  a  little  rather 
run  into  a  fellow  than  not.  I  liked  the  looks 
of  these  equipages  and  their  drivers  ;  they 
meant  business.  Drawn  by  mules  mostly,  six, 
I  think,  to  a  wagon,  powdered  well  with  dust, 
wagon,  beast,  and  driver,  they  came  jogging 
along  the  road,  turning  neither  to  right  nor  left, 
—  some  driven  by  bearded,  solemn  white  men, 
some  by  careless,  saucy-looking  negroes,  of  a 
blackness  like  that  of  anthracite  or  obsidian. 
There  seemed  to  be  nothing  about  them,  dead 
or  alive,  that  was  not  serviceable.  Sometimes 
a  mule  would  give  out  on  the  road  ;  then  he 
was  left  where  he  lay,  until  by  and  by  he  would 
think  better  of  it,  and  get  up,  when  the  first 
public  wagon  that  came  along  would  hitch  him 
on,  and  restore  him  to  the  sphere  of  duty. 

It  was  evening  when  we  got  to  Middletown. 
The  gentle  lady  who  had  graced  our  homely 
conveyance  with  her  company  here  left  us. 
She  found  her  husband,  the  gallant  Colonel,  in 
very  comfortable  quarters,  well  cared  for,  very 


52     MY  HUNT  AFTER  »  THE  CAPTAIN." 

weak  from  the  effects  of  the  fearful  operation 
he  had  been  compelled  to  undergo,  but  show 
ing  the  same  calm  courage  to  endure  as  he  had 
shown  manly  energy  to  act.  It  was  a  meeting 
full  of  heroism  and  tenderness,  of  which  I  heard 
more  than  there  is  need  to  tell.  Health  to  the 
brave  soldier,  and  peace  to  the  household  over 
which  so  fair  a  spirit  presides  ! 

Dr.  Thompson,  the  very  active  and  intelli 
gent  surgical  director  of  the  hospitals  of  the 
place,  took  me  in  charge.  He  carried  me  to 
the  house  of  a  worthy  and  benevolent  clergy 
man  of  the  German  Reformed  Church,  where 
I  was  to  take  tea  and  pass  the  night.  What 
became  of  the  Moravian  chaplain  I  did  not 
know  ;  but  my  friend  the  Philanthropist  had 
evidently  made  up  his  mind  to  adhere  to  my 
fortunes.  He  followed  me,  therefore,  to  the 
house  of  the  "  Dominie,"  as  a  newspaper-corre 
spondent  calls  my  kind  host,  and  partook  of  the 
fare  there  furnished  me.  He  withdrew  with 
me  to  the  apartment  assigned  for  my  slumbers, 
and  slept  sweetly  on  the  same  pillow  where  I 
waked  and  tossed.  Nay,  I  do  affirm  that  he 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN."     53 

didr  unconsciously,  I  believe,  encroach  on  that 
moiety  of  the  couch  which  I  had  flattered  my 
self  was  to  be  my  own  through  the  watches  of 
the  night,  and  that  I  was  in  serious  doubt  at 
one  time  whether  I  should  not  be  gradually, 
but  irresistibly,  expelled  from  the  bed  which  I 
had  supposed  destined  for  my  sole  possession. 
As  Ruth  clave  unto  Naomi,  so  my  friend  the 
Philanthropist  clave  unto  me.  "  Whither  thou 
goest,  I  will  go  ;  and  where  thou  lodgest,  I  will 
lodge."  A  really  kind,  good  man,  full  of  zeal, 
determined  to  help  somebody,  and  absorbed  in 
his  one  thought,  he  doubted  nobody's  willing 
ness  to  serve  him,  going,  as  he  was,  on  a  purely 
benevolent  errand.  When  he  reads  this,  as  I 
hope  he  will,  let  him  be  assured  of  my  esteem 
and  respect ;  and  if  he  gained  any  accommoda 
tion  from  being  in  my  company,  let  me  tell 
him  that  I  learned  a  lesson  from  his  active 
benevolence.  I  could,  however,  have  wished  to 
hear  him  laugh  once  before  we  parted,  perhaps 
forever.  He  did  not,  to  the  best  of  my  recol 
lection,  even  smile  during  the  whole  period  that 
we  were  in  company.  I  am  afraid  that  a  light- 


54     MY  HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN." 

some  disposition  and  a  relish  for  humor  are  not 
so  common  in  those  whose  benevolence  takes 
an  active  turn  as  in  people  of  sentiment,  who 
are  always  ready  with  their  tears  and  abound 
ing  in  passionate  expressions  of  sympathy. 
Working  philanthropy  is  a  practical  specialty, 
requiring  not  a  mere  impulse,  but  a  talent,  with 
its  peculiar  sagacity  for  finding  its  objects,  a 
tact  for  selecting  its  agencies,  an  organizing  and 
arranging  faculty,  a  steady  set  of  nerves,  and  a 
constitution  such  as  Sallust  describes  in  Cati 
line,  patient  of  cold,  of  hunger,  and  of  watch 
ing.  Philanthropists  are  commonly  grave,  oc 
casionally  grim,  and  not  very  rarely  morose. 
Their  expansive  social  force  is  imprisoned  as  a 
working  power,  to  show  itself  only  through  its 
legitimate  pistons  and  cranks.  The  tighter  the 
boiler,  the  less  it  whistles  and  sings  at  its  work. 
When  Dr.  Waterhouse,  in  1780,  travelled  with 
Howard,  on  his  tour  among  the  Dutch  prisons 
and  hospitals,  he  found  his  temper  and  manners 
very  different  from  what  would  have  been  ex 
pected. 

My   benevolent    companion    having    already 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN."     55 

made  a  preliminary  exploration  of  the  hospitals 
of  the  place,  before  sharing  my  bed  with  him, 
as  above  mentioned,  I  joined  him  in  a  second 
tour  through  them.  The  authorities  of  Middle- 
town  are  evidently  leagued  with  the  surgeons  of 
that  place,  for  such  a  break-neck  succession  of 
pitfalls  and  chasms  I  have  never  seen  in  the 
streets  of  a  civilized  town.  It  was  getting  late 
in  the  evening  when  we  began  our  rounds. 
The  principal  collections  of  the  wounded  were 
in  the  churches.  Boards  were  laid  over  the 
tops  of  the  pews,  on  these  some  straw  was 
spread,  and  on  this  the  wounded  lay,  with  little 
or  no  covering  other  than  such  scanty  clothes 
as  they  had  on.  There  were  wounds  of  all 
degrees  of  severity,  but  I  heard  no  groans  or 
murmurs.  Most  of  the  sufferers  were  hurt  in 
the  limbs,  some  had  undergone  amputation,  and 
all  had,  I  presume,  received  such  attention  as 
was  required.  Still,  it  was  but  a  rough  and 
dreary  kind  of  comfort  that  the  extemporized 
hospitals  suggested.  I  could  not  help  thinking 
the  patients  must  be  cold  ;  but  they  were  used 
to  camp  life,  and  did  not  complain.  The  men 


56     MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN." 

who  watched  were  not  of  the  soft-handed  varie 
ty  of  the  race.  One  of  them  was  smoking  his 
pipe  as  he  went  from  bed  to  bed.  I  saw  one 
poor  fellow  who  had  been  shot  through  the 
breast ;  his  breathing  was  labored,  and  he  was 
tossing,  anxious  and  restless.  The  men  were 
debating  about  the  opiate  he  was  to  take,  and  I 
was  thankful  that  I  happened  there  at  the  right 
moment  to  see  that  he  was  well  narcotized  for 
the  night.  Was  it  possible  that  my  Captain 
could  be  lying  on  the  straw  in  one  of  these 
places  ?  Certainly  possible,  but  not  probable ; 
but  as  the  lantern  was  held  over  each  bed,  it 
was  with  a  kind  of  thrill  that  I  looked  upon  the 
features  it  illuminated.  Many  times  as  I  went 
from  hospital  to  hospital  in  my  wanderings,  I 
started  as  some  faint  resemblance  —  the  shade 
of  a  young  man's  hair,  the  outline  of  his  half- 
turned  face  —  recalled  the  presence  I  was  in 
search  of.  The  face  would  turn  towards  me, 
and  the  momentary  illusion  would  pass  away, 
but  still  the  fancy  clung  to  me.  There  was  no 
figure  huddled  up  on  its  rude  couch,  none 
stretched  at  the  roadside,  none  toiling  languidly 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN."     57 

along  the  dusty  pike,  none  passing  in  car  or  in 
ambulance,  that  I  did  not  scrutinize,  as  if  it 
might  be  that  for  which  I  was  making  my  pil 
grimage  to  the  battle-field. 

"  There  are  two  wounded  Secesh,"  said  my 
companion.  I  walked  to  the  bedside  of  the 
first,  who  was  an  officer,  a  lieutenant,  if  I  re 
member  right,  from  North  Carolina.  He  was 
of  good  family,  son  of  a  judge  in  one  of  the 
higher  courts  of  his  State,  educated,  pleasant, 
gentle,  intelligent.  One  moment's  intercourse 
with  such  an  enemy,  lying  helpless  and  wound 
ed  among  strangers,  takes  away  all  personal  bit 
terness  towards  those  with  whom  we  or  our 
children  have  been  but  a  few  hours  before  in 
deadly  strife.  The  basest  lie  which  the  mur 
derous  contrivers  of  this  Rebellion  have  told  is 
that  which  tries  to  make  out  a  difference  of 
race  in  the  men  of  the  North  and  South.  It 
would  be  worth  a  year  of  battles  to  abolish  this 
delusion,  though  the  great  sponge  of  war  that 
wiped  it  out  were  moistened  with  the  best  blood 
of  the  land.  My  Rebel  was  of  slight,  scholas 
tic  habit,  and  spoke  as  one  accustomed  to  tread 
3*  ^^flfl 


58     MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN:' 

carefully  among  the  parts  of  speech.  It  made 
my  heart  ache  to  see  him,  a  man  finished  in  the 
humanities  and  Christian  culture,  whom  the  sin 
of  his  forefathers  and  the  crime  of  his  rulers  had 
set  in  barbarous  conflict  against  others  of  like 
training  with  his  own,  —  a  man  who,  but  for 
the  curse  which  our  generation  is  called  on  to 
expiate,  would  have  taken  his  part  in  the  be 
neficent  task  of  shaping  the  intelligence  and 
lifting  the  moral  standard  of  a  peaceful  and 
united  people. 

On  Sunday  morning,  the  twenty-first,  having 
engaged  James  Grayden  and  his  team,  I  set 
out  with  the  Chaplain  and  the  Philanthropist 
for  Keedysville.  Our  track  lay  through  the 
South-Mountain  Gap,  and  led  us  first  to  the 
town  of  Boonsborough,  where,  it  will  be  re 
membered,  Colonel  Dwight  had  been  brought 
after  the  battle.  We  saw  the  positions  occupied 
in  the  Battle  of  South  Mountain,  and  many  traces 
of  the  conflict.  In  one  situation  a  group  of  young 
trees  was  marked  with  shot,  hardly  one  having 
escaped.  As  we  walked  by  the  side  of  the  wagon, 
the  Philanthropist  left  us  for  a  while  and  climbed 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN."     59 

a  hill,  where,  along  the  line  of  a  fence,  he  found 
traces  of  the  most  desperate  fighting.  A  ride  of 
some  three  hours  brought  us  to  Boonsborough, 
where  I  roused  the  unfortunate  army-surgeon 
who  had  charge  of  the  hospitals,  and  who  was 
trying  to  get  a  little  sleep  after  his  fatigues  and 
watchings.  He  bore  this  cross  very  creditably, 
and  helped  me  to  explore  all  places  where  my 
soldier  might  be  lying  among  the  crowds  of 
wounded.  After  the  useless  search,  I  resumed 
my  journey,  fortified  with  a  note  of  introduction 
to  Dr.  Letterman  ;  also  with  a  bale  of  oakum 
which  I  was  to  carry  to  that  gentleman,  this 
substance  being  employed  as  a  substitute  for  lint. 
We  were  obliged  also  to  procure  a  pass  to 
Keedysville  from  the  Provost-Marshal  of  Boons- 
borough.  As  we  came  near  the  place,  we 
learned  that  General  McClellan's  head-quarters 
had  been  removed  from  this  village  some  miles 
farther  to  the  front. 

On  entering  the  small  settlement  of  Keedys 
ville,  a  familiar  face  and  figure  blocked  the  way, 
like  one  of  Bunyan's  giants.  The  tall  form  and 
benevolent  countenance,  set  off  by  long,  flowing 


60     MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN." 

hair,  belonged  to  the  excellent  Mayor  Frank  B. 
Fay,  of  Chelsea,  who,  like  my  Philanthropist, 
only  still  more  promptly,  had  come  to  succor 
the  wounded  of  the  great  battle.  It  was  wonder 
ful  to  see  how  his  single  personality  pervaded 
this  torpid  little  village  ;  he  seemed  to  be  the 
centre  of  all  its  activities.  All  my  questions  he 
answered  clearly  and  decisively,  as  one  who 
knew  everything  that  was  going  on  in  the  place. 
But  the  one  question  I  had  come  five  hundred 
miles  to  ask,  —  Where  is  Captain  H.  ?  —  he  could 
not  answer.  There  were  some  thousands  of 
wounded  in  the  place,  he  told  me,  scattered 
about  everywhere.  It  would  be  a  long  job  to 
hunt  up  my  Captain  ;  the  only  way  would  be  to 
go  to  every  house  and  ask  for  him.  Just  then  a 
medical  officer  came  up. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  of  Captain  H.,  of  the 
Massachusetts  Twentieth  ?  " 

"  0  yes  ;  he  is  staying  in  that  house.  I  saw 
him  there,  doing  ^ery  well." 

A  chorus  of  hallelujahs  arose  in  my  soul,  but 
I  kept  them  to  myself.  Now,  then,  for  our  twice- 
wounded  volunteer,  our  young  centurion  whose 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN:'     61 

double-barred  shoulder-straps  we  have  never  yet 
looked  upon.  Let  us  observe  the  proprieties, 
however  ;  no  swelling  upward  of  the  mother,  — 
no  hysterica  passio,  —  we  do  not  hke  scenes.  A 
calm  salutation,  —  then  swallow  and  hold  hard. 
That  is  about  the  programme. 

A  cottage  of  squared  logs,  filled  in  with  plaster, 
and  whitewashed.  A  little  yard  before  it,  with 
a  gate  swinging.  The  door  of  the  cottage  ajar,  — 
no  one  visible  as  yet.  I  push  open  the  door  and 
enter.  An  old  woman,  Margaret  Kitzmuller  her 
name  proves  to  be,  is  the  first  person  I  see. 

"Captain  H.  here?" 

"  O  no,  Sir,  —  left  yesterday  morning  for 
Hagerstown,  —  in  a  milk-cart." 

The  Kitzmuller  is  a  beady-eyed,  cheery-look 
ing  ancient  woman,  answers  questions  with  a 
rising  inflection,  and  gives  a  good  account  of  the 
Captain,  who  got  into  the  vehicle  without  assist 
ance,  and  was  in  excellent  spirits.  Of  course  he 
had  struck  for  Hagerstown  as  the  terminus  of 
the  Cumberland  Valley  Railroad,  and  was  on 
his  way  to  Philadelphia,  via  Chambersburg  and 
Harrisburg,  if  he  were  not  already  in  the  hos- 


62     MY  HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN." 

pitable    home    of   Walnut    Street,    where    his 
friends  were  expecting  him. 

'  I  might  follow  on  his  track  or  return  upon  my 
own ;  the  distance  was  the  same  to  Philadelphia 
through  Harrisburg  as  through  Baltimore.  But 
it  was  very  difficult,  Mr.  Fay  told  me,  to  procure 
any  kind  of  conveyance  to  Hagerstown ;  and,  on 
the  other  hand,  I  had  James  Grayden  and  his 
wagon  to  carry  me  back  to  Frederick.  It  was 
not  likely  that  I  should  overtake  the  object  of 
my  pursuit  with  nearly  thirty-six  hours  start, 
even  if  I  could  procure  a  conveyance  that  day. 
In  the  mean  time  James  was  getting  impatient 
to  be  on  his  return,  according  to  the  direction 
of  his  employers.  So  I  decided  to  go  back  with 
him. 

But  there  was  the  great  battle-field  only  about 
three  miles  from  Keedysville,  and  it  was  impos 
sible  to  go  without  seeing  that.  James  Gray- 
den's  directions  were  peremptory,  but  it  was  a 
case  for  the  higher  law.  I  must  make  a  good 
offer  for  an  extra  couple  of  hours,  such  as  would 
satisfy  the  owners  of  the  wagon,  and  enforce  it 
by  a  personal  motive.  I  did  this  handsomely, 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN."     G3 

and  succeeded  without  difficulty.  To  add  bril 
liancy  to  my  enterprise,  I  invited  the  Chaplain 
and  the  Philanthropist  to  take  a  free  passage 
with  me. 

We  followed  the  road  through  the  village  for 
a  space,  then  turned  off  to  the  right,  and  wan 
dered  somewhat  vaguely,  for  want  of  precise 
directions,  over  the  hills.  Inquiring  as  we  went, 
we  forded  a  wide  creek  in  which  soldiers  were 
washing  their  clothes,  the  name  of  which  we  did 
not  then  know,  but  which  must  have  been  the 
Antietam.  At  one  point  we  met  a  party,  women 
among  them,  bringing  off  various  trophies  they 
had  picked  up  on  the  battle-field.  Still  wander 
ing  along,  we  were  at  last  pointed  to  a  hill  in 
the  distance,  a  part  of  the  summit  of  which  was 
covered  with  Indian-corn.  There,  we  were  told, 
some  of  the  fiercest  fighting  of  the  day  had  been 
done.  The  fences  were  taken  down  so  as  to 
make  a  passage  across  the  fields,  and  the  tracks 
worn  within  the  last  few  days  looked  like  old 
roads.  We  passed  a  fresh  grave  under  a  tree 
near  the  road.  A  board  was  nailed  to  the 
tree,  bearing  the  name,  as  well  as  I  could  make 


64     MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN." 

it  out,  of  Gardiner,  of  a  New-Hampshire  regi 
ment. 

On  coming  near  the  brow  of  the  hill,  we  met 
a  party  carrying  picks  and  spades.  "  How 
many  ?  "  "  Only  one."  The  dead  were  nearly 
all  buried,  then,  in  this  region  of  the  field  of 
strife.  We  stopped  the  wagon,  and,  getting  out, 
began  to  look  around  us.  Hard  by  was  a  large 
pile  of  muskets,  scores,  if  not  hundreds,  which 
had  been  picked  up,  and  were  guarded  for  the 
Government.  A  long  ridge  of  fresh  gravel  rose 
before  us.  A  board  stuck  up  in  front  of  it  bore 
this  inscription,  the  first  part  of  which  was,  I 
believe,  not  correct :  "  The  Rebel  General  An 
derson  and  80  Rebels  are  buried  in  this  hole." 
Other  smaller  ridges  were  marked  with  the 
number  of  dead  lying  under  them.  The  whole 
ground  was  strewed  with  fragments  of  cloth 
ing,  haversacks,  canteens,  cap-boxes,  bullets,  car 
tridge-boxes,  cartridges,  scraps  of  paper,  portions 
of  bread  and  meat.  I  saw  two  soldiers'  caps  that 
looked  as  though  their  owners  had  been  shot 
through  the  head.  In  several  places  I  noticed 
dark  red  patches  where  a  pool  of  blood  had 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN."     65 

curdled  and  caked,  as  some  poor  fellow  poured 
his  life  out  on  the  sod.  I  then  wandered  about 
in  the  cornfield.  It  surprised  me  to  notice,  that, 
though  there  was  every  mark  of  hard  fighting 
having  taken  place  here,  the  Indian-corn  was 
not  generally  trodden  down.  One  of  our  corn 
fields  is  a  kind  of  forest,  and  even  when  fighting, 
men  avoid  the  tall  stalks  as  if  they  were  trees. 
At  the  edge  of  this  cornfield  lay  a  gray  horse, 
said  to  have  belonged  to  a  Rebel  colonel,  who 
was  killed  near  the  same  place.  Not  far  off 
were  two  dead  artillery  horses  in  their  harness. 
Another  had  been  attended  to  by  a  burying- 
party,  who  had  thrown  some  earth  over  him ; 
but  his  last  bed-clothes  were  too  short,  and  his 
legs  stuck  out  stark  and  stiff  from  beneath  the 
gravel  coverlet.  It  was  a  great  pity  that  we  had 
no  intelligent  guide  to  explain  to  us  the  position 
of  that  portion  of  the  two  armies  which  fought 
over  this  ground.  There  was  a  shallow  trench 
before  we  came  to  the  cornfield,  too  narrow  for 
a  road,  as  I  should  think,  too  elevated  for  a 
water-course,  and  which  seemed  to  have  been 
used  as  a  rifle-pit.  At  any  rate,  there  had  been 


66     MY  HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN." 

hard  fighting  in  and  about  it.  This  and  the 
cornfield  may  serve  to  identify  the  part  of  the 
ground  we  visited,  if  any  who  fought  there 
should  ever  look  over  this  paper.  The  opposing 
tides  of  battle  must  have  blended  their  waves  at 
this  point,  for  portions  of  gray  uniform  were 
mingled  with  the  "  garments  rolled  in  blood  " 
torn  from  our  own  dead  and  wounded  soldiers. 
I  picked  up  a  Rebel  canteen,  and  one  of  our 
own,  —  but  there  was  something  repulsive  about 
the  trodden  and  stained  relics  of  the  stale  battle 
field.  It  was  like  the  table  of  some  hideous  orgy 
left  uncleared,  and  one  turned  away  "disgusted 
from  its  broken  fragments  and  muddy  heel-taps. 
A  bullet  or  two,  a  button,  a  brass  plate  from  a 
soldier's  belt,  served  well  enough  for  mementos 
of  my  visit,  with  a  letter  which  I  picked  up, 
directed  to  Richmond,  Virginia,  its  seal  un 
broken.  "  N.  C.  Cleveland  County.  E.  Wright 
to  J.  Wright."  On  the  other  side,  "  A  few  lines 
from  W.  L.  Vaughn,"  who  has  just  been  writing 
for  the  wife  to  her  husband,  and  continues  on 
his  own  account.  The  postscript,  "  tell  John 
that  nancy's  folks  are  all  well  and  has  a  verry 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN."     67 

good  Little  Crop  of  corn  a  growing."  I  wonder, 
if,  by  one  of  those  strange  chances  of  which  I 
have  seen  so  many,  this  number  or  leaf  of  the 
"  Atlantic  "  will  not  sooner  or  later  find  its  way 
to  Cleveland  County,  North  Carolina,  and  E. 
Wright,  widow  of  James  Wright,  and  Nancy's 
folks,  get  from  these  sentences  the  last  glimpse 
of  husband  and  friend  as  he  threw  up  his  arms 
and  fell  in  the  bloody  cornfield  of  Antietam  ?  I 
will  keep  this  stained  letter  for  them  until  peace 
comes  back,  if  it  comes  in  my  time,  and  my 
pleasant  North  Carolina  Rebel  of  the  Middle- 
town  Hospital  will,  perhaps,  look  these  poor 
people  up,  and  tell  them  where  to  send  for  it. 

On  the  battle-field  I  parted  with  my  two  com 
panions,  the  Chaplain  and  the  Philanthropist. 
They  were  going  to  the  front,  the  one  to  find 
his  regiment,  the  other  to  look  for  those  who 
needed  his  assistance.  We  exchanged  cards  and 
farewells,  I  mounted  the  wagon,  the  horses' 
heads  were  turned  homewards,  my  two  com 
panions  went  their  way,  and  I  saw  them  no 
more.  On  my  way  back,  I  fell  into  talk  with 
James  Grayden.  Born  in  England,  Lancashire ; 


68     MY  HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN." 

in  this  country  since  he  was  four  years  old. 
Had  nothing  to  care  for  but  an  old  mother ; 
did  n't  know  what  he  should  do  if  he  lost  her. 
Though  so  long  in  this  country,  he  had  all  the 
simplicity  and  childlike  light-heartedness  which 
belong  to  the  Old  World's  people.  He  laughed 
at  the  smallest  pleasantry,  and  showed  his  great 
white  English  teeth;  he  took  a  joke  without 
retorting  by  an  impertinence  ;  he  had  a  very 
limited  curiosity  about  all  that  was  going  on  ; 
he  had  small  store  of  information ;  he  lived 
chiefly  in  his  horses,  it  seemed  to  me.  His  quiet 
animal  nature  acted  as  a  pleasing  anodyne  to  my 
recurring  fits  of  anxiety,  and  I  liked  his  frequent 
"  'Deed  I  don't  know,  Sir,"  better  than  I  have 
sometimes  relished  the  large  discourse  of  pro 
fessors  and  other  very  wise  men.' 

I  have  not  much  to  say  of  the  road  which  we 
were  travelling  for  the  second  time.  Reaching 
Middletown,  my  first  call  was  on  the  wounded 
Colonel  and  his  lady.  She  gave  me  a  most 
touching  account  of  all  the  suffering  he  had 
gone  through  with  his  shattered  limb  before  he 
succeeded  in  finding  a  shelter,  showing  the  ter- 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  «»  THE  CAPTAIN."     G9 

rible  want  of  proper  means  of  transportation  of 
the  wounded  after  the  battle.  It  occurred  to 
me,  while  at  this  house,  that  I  was  more  or  less 
famished,  and  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I 
begged  for  a  meal,  which  the  kind  family  with 
whom  the  Colonel  was  staying  most  graciously 
furnished  me. 

After  tea,  there  came  in  a  stout  army-surgeon, 
a  Highlander  by  birth,  educated  in  Edinburgh, 
with  whom  I  had  pleasant,  not  unstimulating 
talk.  He  had  been  brought  very  close  to  that 
immane  and  nefandous  Burke-and-Hare  business 
which  made  the  blood  of  civilization  run  cold  in 
the  year  1828,  and  told  me,  in  a  very  calm  way, 
with  an  occasional  pinch  from  the  mull,  to 
refresh  his  memory,  some  of  the  details  of  those 
frightful  murders,  never  rivalled  in  horror  until 
the  wretch  Dumollard,  who  kept  a  private  cem 
etery  for  his  victims,  was  dragged  into  the  light 
of  day.  He  had  a  good  deal  to  say,  too,  about 
the  Royal  College  of  Surgeons  in  Edinburgh, 
and  the  famous  preparations,  mercurial  and  the 
rest,  which  I  remember  well  having  seen  there, 
—  the  "  sudabit  multum,"  and  others,  —  also  of 


70     MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN." 

our  New  York  Professor  Carnochan's  handi 
work,  a  specimen  of  which  I  once  admired  at 
the  New  York  College.  But  the  doctor  was 
not  in  a  happy  frame  of  mind,  and  seemed  will 
ing  to  forget  the  present  in  the  past:  things 
went  wrong,  somehow,  and  the  time  was  out 
of  joint  with  him. 

Dr.  Thompson,  kind,  cheerful,  companiona 
ble,  offered  me  half  his  own  wide  bed,  in  the 
house  of  Dr.  Baer,  for  my  second  night  in  Mid- 
dletown.  Here  I  lay  awake  again  another  night. 
Close  to  the  house  stood  an  ambulance  in  which 
was  a  wounded  Rebel  officer,  attended  by  one 
of  their  own  surgeons.  He  was  calling  out 
in  a  loud  voice,  all  night  long,  as  it  seemed  to 
me,  "  Doctor  !  Doctor  !  Driver  !  Water  !  "  in 
loud,  complaining  tones,  I  have  no  doubt  of  real 
suffering,  but  in  strange  contrast  with  the  silent 
patience  which  was  the  almost  universal  rule. 

The  courteous  Dr.  Thompson  will  let  me 
tell  here  an  odd  coincidence,  trivial,  but  having 
its  interest  as  one  of  a  series.  The  Doctor  and 
myself  lay  in  the  bed,  and  a  lieutenant,  a  friend 
of  his,  slept  on  the  sofa.  At  night,  I  placed  my 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN."     71 

match-box,  a  Scotch  one,  of  the  Macpherson- 
plaid  pattern,  which  I  bought  years  ago,  on  the 
bureau,  just  where  I  could  put  my  hand  upon  it. 
I  was  the  last  of  the  three  to  rise  in  the  morn 
ing,  and  on  looking  for  my  pretty  match-box,  I 
found  it  was  gone.  This  was  rather  awkward, 
—  not  on  account  of  the  loss,  but  of  the  un 
avoidable  fact  that  one  of  my  fellow-lodgers 
must  have  taken  it.  I  must  try  to  find  out  what 
it  meant. 

"  By  the  way,  Doctor,  have  you  seen  any 
thing  of  a  little  plaid-pattern  match-box  ?  " 

The  Doctor  put  his  hand  to  his  pocket,  and, 
to  his  own  huge  surprise  and  my  great  gratifi 
cation,  pulled  out  two  match-boxes  exactly  alike, 
both  printed  with  the  Macpherson  plaid.  One 
was  his,  the  other  mine,  which  he  had  seen  lying 
round,  and  naturally  took  for  his  own,  thrusting 
it  into  his  pocket,  where  it  found  its  twin-brother 
from  the  same  workshop.  In  memory  of  which 
event,  we  exchanged  boxes,  like  two  Homeric 
heroes. 

This  curious  coincidence  illustrates  well 
enough  some  supposed  cases  of  plagiarism,  of 


72     MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN" 

which  I  will  mention  one  where  my  name  fig 
ured.  When  a  little  poem  called  "  The  Two 
Streams"  was  first  printed,  a  writer  in  the 
New  York  "  Evening  Post "  virtually  accused 
the  author  of  it  of  borrowing  the  thought  from 
ja.  baccalaureate  sermon  of  President  Hopkins, 
of  Williamstown,  and  printed  a  quotation  from 
that  discourse,  which,  as  I  thought,  a  thief  or 
catchpoll  might  well  consider  as  establishing  a 
fair  presumption  that  it  was  so  borrowed.  I 
was  at  the  same  time  wholly  unconscious  of 
ever  having  met  with  the  discourse  or  the  sen 
tence  which  the  verses  were  most  like,  nor  do  I 
believe  I  ever  had  seen  or  heard  either.  Some 
time  after  this,  happening  to  meet  my  eloquent 
cousin,  Wendell  Phillips,  I  mentioned  the  fact  to 
him,  and  he  told  me  that  Tie  had  once  used  the 
special  image  said  to  be  borrowed,  in  a  discourse 
delivered  at  Williamstown.  On  relating  this  to 
my  friend  Mr.  Buchanan  Read,  he  informed  me 
that  he,  too,  had  used  the  image, — -perhaps 
referring  to  his  poem  called  "  The  Twins." 
He  thought  Tennyson  had  used  it  also.  The 
parting  of  the  streams  on  the  Alps  is  poetically 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN."     73 

elaborated  in  a  passage  attributed  to  "  M. 
Loisne,"  printed  in  the  "  Boston  Evening  Tran 
script  "  for  October  23d,  1859.  Captain,  after 
wards  Sir  Francis  Head,  speaks  of  the  showers 
parting  on  the  Cordilleras,  one  portion  going  to 
the  Atlantic,  one  to  the  Pacific.  I  found  the 
image  running  loose  in  my  mind,  without  a 
halter.  It  suggested  itself  as  an  illustration  of 
the  will,  and  I  worked  the  poem  out  by  the  aid 
of  Mitchell's  School  Atlas.  —  The  spores  of  a 
great  many  ideas  are  floating  about  in  the  at 
mosphere.  We  no  more  know  where  all  the 
growths  of  our  mind  came  from,  than  where  the 
lichens  which  eat  the  names  off  from  the  grave 
stones  borrowed  the  germs  that  gave  them  birth. 
The  two  match-boxes  were  just  alike,  but  nei 
ther  was  a  plagiarism. 

In  the  morning  I  took  to  the  same  wagon 
once  more,  but,  instead  of  James  Grayden,  I 
was  to  have  for  my  driver  a  young  man  who 
spelt  his  name  "Phillip  Ottenheimer,"  and 
whose  features  at  once  showed  him  to  be  an 
Israelite.  I  found  him  agreeable  enough,  and 
disposed  to  talk.  So  I  asked  him  many  ques- 


74     MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN." 

tions  about  his  religion,  and  got  some  answers 
that  sound  strangely  in  Christian  ears.  He 
was  from  Wittenberg,  and  had  been  educated 
in  strict  Jewish  fashion.  From  his  childhood 
he  had  read  Hebrew,  but  was  not  much  of  a 
scholar  otherwise.  A  young  person  of  his  race 
lost  caste  utterly  by  marrying  a  Christian. 
The  Founder  of  our  religion  was  considered 
by  the  Israelites  to  have  been  "a  right  smart 
man,  and  a  great  doctor."  But  the  horror  with 
which  the  reading  of  the  New  Testament  by 
any  young  person  of  their  faith  would  be  re 
garded  was  as  great,  I  judged  by  his  language, 
as  that  of  one  of  our  straitest  sectaries  would 
be,  if  he  found  his  son  or  daughter  perusing 
the  "  Age  of  Reason." 

o 

In  approaching  Frederick,  the  singular  beauty 
of  its  clustered  spires  struck  me  very  much, 
so  that  I  was  not  surprised  to  find  "  Fair- View  " 
laid  down  about  this  point  on  a  railroad-map. 
I  wish  some  wandering  photographer  would 
take  a  picture  of  the  place,  a  stereoscopic  one, 
if  possible,  to  show  how  gracefully,  how  charm 
ingly,  its  group  of  steeples  nestles  among  the 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN."     75 

Maryland  hills.  The  town  had  a  poetical  look 
from  a  distance,  as  if  seers  and  dreamers  might 
dwell  there.  The  first  sign  I  read,  on  enter 
ing  its  long  street,  might  perhaps  be  consid 
ered  as  confirming  my  remote  impression.  It 
bore  these  words :  "  Miss  Ogle,  Past,  Present, 
and  Future."  On  arriving,  I  visited  Lieu 
tenant  Abbott,  and  the  attenuated  unhappy  gen 
tleman,  his  neighbor,  sharing  between  them  as 
my  parting  gift  what  I  had  left  of  the  balsam 
known  to  the  Pharmacopoeia  as  Spiritus  Vini 
Gallid.  I  took  advantage  of  General  Shriv- 
er's  always  open  door  to  write  a  letter  home, 
but  had  not  time  to  partake  of  his  offered  hospi 
tality.  The  railroad-bridge  over  the  Monocacy 
had  been  rebuilt  since  I  passed  through  Fred 
erick,  and  we  trundled  along  over  the  track 
toward  Baltimore. 

It  was  a  disappointment,  on  reaching  the 
Eutaw  House,  where  I  had  ordered  all  com 
munications  to  be  addressed,  to  find  no  tele 
graphic  message  from  Philadelphia  or  Boston, 
stating  that  Captain  H.  had  arrived  at  the 
former  place,  "  wound  doing  well  in  good  spir- 


76     MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN:1 

its  expects  to  leave  soon  for  Boston."  After 
all,  it  was  no  great  matter ;  the  Captain  was, 
no  doubt,  snugly  lodged  before  this  in  the 
house  called  Beautiful,  at  *  *  *  *  Walnut 
Street,  where  that  "  grave  and  beautiful  dam 
sel  named  Discretion"  had  already  welcomed 
him,  smiling,  though  "  the  water  stood  in  her 
eyes,"  and  had  "  called  out  Prudence,  Piety, 
and  Charity,  who,  after  a  little  more  discourse 
with  him,  had  him  into  the  family." 

The  friends  I  had  met  at  the  Eutaw  House 
had  all  gone  but  one,  the  lady  of  an  officer 
from  Boston,  who  was  most  amiable  and  agree 
able,  and  whose  benevolence,  as  I  afterwards 
learned,  soon  reached  the  invalids  I  had  left  suf 
fering  at  Frederick.  General  Wool  still  walked 
the  corridors,  inexpansive,  with  Fort  McHenry 
on  his  shoulders,  and  Baltimore  in  his  breeches- 
pocket,  and  his  courteous  aid  again  pressed 
upon  me  his  kind  offices.  About  the  doors 
of  the  hotel  the  news-boys  cried  the  papers 
in  plaintive,  wailing  tones,  as  different  from 
the  sharp  accents  of  their  Boston  counterparts 
as  a  sigh  from  the  southwest  is  from  a  north- 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN."     77 

eastern  breeze.  To  understand  what  they  said 
was,  of  course,  impossible  to  any  but  an  edu 
cated  ear,  and  if  I  made  out  "Stoarr"  and 
"  Clipp'rr,"  it  was  because  I  knew  before 
hand  what  must  be  the  burden  of  their  adver 
tising  coranach. 

O 

I  set  out  for  Philadelphia  on  the  morrow, 
Tuesday  the  twenty-third,  there  beyond  ques 
tion  to  meet  my  Captain,  once  more  united 
to  his  brave  wounded  companions  under  that 
roof  which  covers  a  household  of  as  noble 
hearts  as  ever  throbbed  with  human  sympa 
thies.  Back  River,  Bush  River,  Gunpowder 
Creek,  —  lives  there  the  man  with  soul  so  dead 
that  his  memory  has  cerements  to  wrap  up 
these  senseless  names  in  the  same  envelopes 
with  their  meaningless  localities  ?  But  the 
Susquehanna,  —  the  broad,  the  beautiful,  the 
historical,  the  poetical  Susquehanna,  —  the  river 
of  "Wyoming  and  of  Gertrude,  dividing  the 
shores  where 

"  aye  those  sunny  mcmntains  half-way  down 
Would  echo  flageolet  from  some  romantic  town,"  — 

did  not  my  heart  renew  its  allegiance  to  the 


78     MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN." 

poet  who  has  made  it  lovely  to  the  imagina 
tion  as  well  as  to  the  eye,  and  so  identified 
his  fame  with  the  noble  stream  that  it  "  rolls 
mingling  with  his  fame  forever  "  ?  The  prosaic 
traveller  perhaps  remembers  it  better  from  the 
fact  that  a  great  sea-monster,  in  the  shape 
of  a  steamboat,  takes  him,  sitting  in  the  car, 
on  its  back,  and  swims  across  with  him  like 
Arion's  dolphin,  —  also  that  mercenary  men 
on  board  offer  him  canvas-backs  in  the  season, 
and  ducks  of  lower  degree  at  other  periods. 

At  Philadelphia  again  at  last !  Drive  fast, 
O  colored  man  and  brother,  to  the  house 
called  Beautiful,  where  my  Captain  lies  sore 
wounded,  waiting  for  the  sound  of  the  chariot- 
wheels  which  bring  to  his  bedside  the  face 
and  the  voice  nearer  than  any  save  one  to 
his  heart  in  this  his  hour  of  pain  and  weak 
ness  !  Up  a  long  street  with  white  shutters 
and  white  steps  to  all  the  houses.  Off  at  right 
angles  into  another  long  street  with  white  shut 
ters  and  white  steps  to  all  the  houses.  Off 
again  at  another  right  angle  into  still  another 
long  street  with  white  shutters  and  white  steps 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN."     79 

to  all  the  houses.  The  natives  of  this  city 
pretend  to  know  one  street  from  another  by 
some  individual  diffefences  of  aspect;  but  the 
best  way  for  a  stranger  to  distinguish  the 
streets  he  has  been  in  from  others  is  to  make 
a  cross  or  other  mark  on  the  white  shut 
ters. 

This  corner-house  is  the  one.      Ring  softly, 

for   the    Lieutenant-Colonel   lies  there  with 

a  dreadfully  wounded  arm,  and  two  sons  of 
the  family,  one  wounded  like  the  Colonel,  one 
fighting  with  death  in  the  fog  of  a  typhoid 
fever,  will  start  with  fresh  pangs  at  the  least 
sound  you  can  make.  I  entered  the  house, 
but  no  cheerful  smile  met  me.  The  sufferers 
were  each  of  them  thought  to  be  in  a  critical 
condition.  The  fourth  bed,  waiting  its  tenant 
day  after  day,  was  still  empty.  Not  a  word 
from  my  Captain. 

Then,  foolish,  fond  body  that  I  was,  my 
heart  sank  within  me.  Had  he  been  taken 
ill  on  the  road,  perhaps  been  attacked  with 
those  formidable  symptoms  which  sometimes 
come  on  suddenly  after  wounds  that  seemed  to 


80     MY  HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN." 

be  doing  well  enough,  and  was  his  life  ebbing 
away  in  some  lonely  cottage,  nay,  in  some 
cold  barn  or  shed,  or  at  the  wayside,  unknown, 
uncared  for?  Somewhere  between  Philadel 
phia  and  Hagerstown,  if  not  at  the  latter  town, 
he  must  be,  at  any  rate.  I  must  swaep  the 
hundred  and  eighty  miles  between  these  places 
as  one  would  sweep  a  chamber  where  a  precious 
pearl  had  been  dropped.  I  must  have  a  com 
panion  in  my  search,  partly  to  help  me  look 
about,  and  partly  because  I  was  getting  ner 
vous  and  felt  lonely.  Charley  said  he  would 
go  with  me,  —  Charley,  my  Captain's  beloved 
friend,  gentle,  but  full  of  spirit  and  liveliness, 
cultivated,  social,  aifectionate,  a  good  talker, 
a  most  agreeable  letter-writer,  observing,  with 
large  relish  of  life,  and  keen  sense  of  humor. 
He  was  not^well  enough  to  go,  some  of  the 
timid  ones  said;  but  he  answered  by  packing 
his  carpet-bag,  and  in  an.  hour  or  two  we  were 
on  the  Pennsylvania  Central  Railroad  in  full 
blast  for  Harrisburg. 

I  should  have  been  a  forlorn  creature  but  for 
the  presence  of  my  companion.     In  his  delight- 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN."     81 

fill  company  I  half  forgot  my  anxieties,  which, 
exaggerated  as  they  may  seem  now,  were  not 
unnatural  after  what"!  had  seen  of  the  confusion 
and  distress  that  had  followed  the  great  battle, 
nay,  which  seem  almost  justified  by  the  recent 
statement  that  "  hiffh  officers  "  were  buried  after 

O 

that  battle  whose  names  were  never  ascertained. 
I  noticed  little  matters,  as  usual.  The  road  was 
filled  in  between  the  rails  with  cracked  stones, 
such  as  are  used  for  Macadamizing  streets. 
They  keep  the  dust  down,  I  suppose,  for  I 
could  not  think  of  any  other  use  for  them.  By 
and  by  the  glorious  valley  which  stretches  along 
through  Chester  and  Lancaster  Counties  opened 
upon  us.  Much  as  I  had  heard  of  the  fertile 
regions  of  Pennsylvania,  the  vast  scale  and  the 
uniform  luxuriance  of  this  region  astonished  me. 
The  grazing  pastures  were  so  green,  the  fields 
were  under  such  perfect  culture,  the  cattle 
looked  so  sleek,  the  houses  were  so  comfortable, 
the  barns  so  ample,  the  fences  so  well  kept,  that 
I  did  not  wonder,  when  I  was  told  that  this 
region  was  called  the  England  of  Pennsylvania. 
The  people  whom  we  saw  were,  like  the  cattle, 

4*  F 


82     MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN." 

well  nourished  ;  the  young  women  looked  round 
and  wholesome. 

"  Grass  makes  girls,"  I  said  to  my  companion, 
and  left  him  to  work  out  my  Orphic  saying, 
thinking  to  myself,  that,  as  guano  makes  grass, 
it  was  a  legitimate  conclusion  that  Ichaboe  must 
be  a  nursery  of  female  loveliness. 

As  the  train  stopped  at  the  different  stations, 
I  inquired  at  each  if  they  had  any  wounded 
officers.  None  as  yet;  the  red  rays  of  the 
battle-field  had  not  streamed  off  so  far  as  this. 
Evening  found  us  in  the  cars ;  they  lighted 
candles  in  spring-candle-sticks ;  odd  enough  I 
thought  it  in  the  land  of  oil-wells  and  unmeas 
ured  floods  of  kerosene.  Some  fellows  turned 
up  the  back  of  a  seat  so  as  to  make  it  horizontal, 
and  began  gambling,  or  pretending  to  gamble ; 
it  looked  as  if  they  were  trying  to  pluck  a 
young  countryman ;  but  appearances  are  decep 
tive,  and  no  deeper  stake  than  "  drinks  for  the 
crowd"  seemed  at  last  to  be  involved.  But 
remembering  that  murder  has  tried  of  late  years 
to  establish  itself  as  an  institution  in  the  cars,  I 
was  less  tolerant  of  the  doings  of  these  "  sports- 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN."     83 

men  "  who  tried  to  turn  our  public  conveyance 
into  a  travelling  Frascati.  They  acted  as  if 
they  were  used  to  it,  and  nobody  seemed  to  pay 
much  attention  to  their  manoeuvres. 

We  arrived  at  Harrisburg  in  the  course  of  the 
evening,  and  attempted  to  find  our  way  to  the 
Jones  House,  to  which  we  had  been  commend 
ed.     By  some  mistake,  intentional  on  the  part 
of  somebody,  as  it  may  have  been,  or  purely 
accidental,  we  went  to  the  Herr  House  instead. 
I  entered  my  name  in  the  book,  with  that  of 
my   companion.      A    plain,    middle-aged    man 
stepped  up,  read  it  to  himself  in  low  tones,  and 
coupled  to  it  a  literary  title  by  which  I  have 
been    sometimes   known.     He   proved   to  be  a 
graduate  of  Brown  University,  and  had  heard 
a  certain  Phi  Beta  Kappa  poem  delivered  there 
a  good  many  years  ago.     I  remembered  it,  too  ; 
Professor  Goddard,  whose  sudden  and  singular 
death  left  such  lasting  regret,  was  the  Orator. 
I  recollect  that  while  I  was  speaking  a  drum 
went  by  the  church,  and  how  I  was  disgusted  to 
see  all  the  heads  near  the  windows  thrust  out 
of  them,  as  if  the  building  were  on  fire.      Cedat 


84     MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN." 

armis  toga.  The  clerk  in  the  office,  a  mild, 
pensive,  unassuming  young  man,  was  very  po 
lite  in  his  manners,  and  did  all  he  could  to  make 
us  comfortable.  He  was  of  a  literary  turn,  and 
knew  one  of  his  guests  in  his  character  of  au 
thor.  At  tea,  a  mild  old  gentleman,  with  white 
hair  and  beard,  sat  next  us.  He,  too,  had  come 
hunting  after  his  son,  a  lieutenant  in  a  Pennsyl 
vania  regiment.  Of  these,  father  and  son,  more 
presently. 

After  tea  we  went  to  look  up  Dr.  Wilson, 
chief  medical  officer  of  the  hospitals  in  the  place, 
who  was  staying  at  the  Brady  House.  A  mag 
nificent  old  toddy-mixer,  Bardolphian  in  hue, 
and  stern  of  aspect,  as  all  grog-dispensers  must 
be,  accustomed  as  they  are  to  dive  through  the 
features  of  men  to  the  bottom  of  their  souls  and 
pockets  to  see  whether  they  are  solvent  to  the 
amount  of  sixpence,  answered  my  question  by  a 
wave  of  one  hand,  the  other  being  engaged  in 
carrying  a  dram  to  his  lips.  His  superb  indif 
ference  gratified  my  artistic  feeling  more  than  it 
wounded  my  personal  sensibilities.  Anything 
really  superior  in  its  line  claims  my  homage, 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN:'     85 

and  this  man  was  the  ideal  bar-tender,  above 
all  vulgar  passions,  untouched  by  commonplace 
sympathies,  himself  a  lover  of  the  liquid  happi 
ness  he  dispenses,  and  filled  with  a  fine  scorn 
of  all  those  lesser  felicities  conferred  by  love  or 
fame  or  wealth  or  any  of  the  roundabout  agen 
cies  for  which  his  fiery  elixir  is  the  cheap,  all- 
powerful  substitute. 

Dr.  Wilson  was  in  bed,  though  it  was  early 
in  the  evening,  not  having  slept  for  I  don't 
know  how  many  nights. 

"  Take  my  card  up  to  him,  if  you  please." 

"  This  way,  Sir." 

A  man  who  has  not  slept  for  a  fortnight  or  so 
is  not  expected  to  be  as  affable,  when  attacked 
in  his  bed,  as  a  French  Princess  of  old  time  at 
her  morning  receptions.  Dr.  Wilson  turned 
toward  me,  as  I  entered,  without  effusion,  but 
without  rudeness.  His  thick,  dark  moustache 
was  chopped  off  square  at  the  lower  edge  of  the 
upper  lip,  which  implied  a  decisive,  if  not  a 
peremptory,  style  of  character. 

I  am  Doctor  So-and-So,  of  Hubtown,  looking 
after  my  wounded  son.  (I  gave  my  name  and 
said  Boston,  of  course,  in  reality.) 


86     MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN." 

Dr.  Wilson  leaned  on  his  elbow  and  looked 
up  in  my  face,  his  features  growing  cordial. 
Then  he  put  out  his  hand,  and  good-hum oredly 
excused  his  reception  of  me.  The  day  before, 
as  he  told  me,  he  had  dismissed  from  the  service 
a  medical  man  hailing  from  ********?  Pennsyl 
vania,  bearing  my  last  name,  preceded  by  the 
same  two  initials;  and  he  supposed,  when  my 
card  came  up,  it  was  this  individual  who  was 
disturbing  his  slumbers.  The  coincidence  was 
so  unlikely  a  priori,  unless  some  forlorn  parent 
without  antecedents  had  named  a  child  after  me, 
that  I  could  not  help  cross-questioning  the  Doc 
tor,  who  assured  me  deliberately  that  the  fact 
was  just  as  he  had  said,  even  to  the  somewhat 
unusual  initials.  Dr.  Wilson  very  kindly  fur 
nished  me  all  the  information  in  his  power,  gave 
me  directions  for  telegraphing  to  Chambersburo;, 
and  showed  every  disposition  to  serve  me. 

On  returning  to  the  Herr  House,  we  found 
the  mild,  white-haired  old  gentleman  in  a  very 
happy  state.  He  had  just  discovered  his  son,  in 
a  comfortable  condition,  at  the  United  States 
Hotel.  He  thought  that  he  could  probably  give 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN."     87 

us  some  information  which  would  prove  inter 
esting.  To  the  United  States  Hotel  we  re 
paired,  then,  in  company  with  our  kind-hearted 
old  friend,  who  evidently  wanted  to  see  me  as 
happy  as  himself.  He  went  up-stairs  to  his 
son's  chamber,  and  presently  came  down  to 
conduct  us  there. 

Lieutenant  P ,  of  the  Pennsylvania 

th,  was  a  very  fresh,  bright-looking  young 

man,  lying  in  bed  from  the  effects  of  a  recent 
injury  received  in  action.  A  grape-shot,  after 
passing  through  a  post  and  a  board,  had  struck 
him  in  the  hip,  bruising,  but  not  penetrating  or 
breaking.  He  had  good  news  for  me. 

That  very  afternoon,  a  party  of  wounded 
officers  had  passed  through  Harrisburg,  going 
East.  He  had  conversed  in  the  bar-room  of 
this  hotel  with  one  of  them,  who  was  wounded 
about  the  shoulder,  (it  might  be  the  lower  part 
of  the  neck,)  and  had  his  arm  in  a  sling.  He 
belonged  to  the  Twentieth  Massachusetts;  the 
Lieutenant  saw  that  he  was  a  Captain,  by  the 
two  bars  on  his  shoulder-strap.  His  name  was 
my  family-name ;  he  was  tall  and  youthful,  like 


88     MY  HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN." 

my  Captain.  At  four  o'clock  he  left  in  the 
train  for  Philadelphia.  Closely  questioned,  the 
Lieutenant's  evidence  was  as  round,  complete, 
and  lucid  as  a  Japanese  sphere  of  rock-crys 
tal. 

TE  DEUM  LAUDAMUS  !  The  Lord's  name  be 
praised  !  The  dead  pain  in  the  semilunar  gang 
lion  (which  I  must  remind  my  reader  is  a  kind 
of  stupid,  unreasoning  brain,  beneath  the  pit  of 
the  stomach,  common  to  man  and  beast,  which 
aches  in  the  supreme  moments  of  life,  as  when 
the  dam  loses  her  young  ones,  or  the  wild  horse 
is  lassoed)  stopped  short.  There  was  a  feeling 
as  if  I  had  slipped  off  a  tight  boot,  or  cut  a 
strangling  garter,  —  only  it  was  all  over  my 
system.  What  more  could  I  ask  to  assure  me 
of  the  Captain's  safety  ?  As  soon  as  the  tele 
graph-office  opens  to-morrow  morning  we  will, 
send  a  message  to  our  friends  in  Philadelphia, 
and  get  a  reply,  doubtless,  which  will  settle 
the  whole  matter. 

The  hopeful  morrow  dawned  at  last,  and  the 
message  was  sent  accordingly.  In  due  time,  the 
following  reply  was  received  :  — 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN."     89 

"  Phil  Sept  24  I  think  the  report  you  have 
heard  that  W  [the  Captain]  has  gone  East  must 
be  an  error  we  have  not  seen  or  heard  of  him 
here  M  L  H  " 

DE  PROFUNDIS  CLAMAVI  !  He  could  not  have 
passed  through  Philadelphia  without  visiting  the 
house  called  Beautiful,  where  he  had  been  so 
tenderly  cared  for  after  his  wound  at  Ball's 
Bluff,  and  where  those  whom  he  loved  were 
lying  in  grave  peril  of  life  or  limb.  Yet  he  did 
pass  through  Harrisburg,  going  East,  going  to 
Philadelphia,  on  his  way  home.  Ah,  this  is  it ! 
He  must  have  taken  the  late  night-train  from 
Philadelphia  for  New  York,  in  his  impatience  to 
reach  home.  There  is  such  a  train,  not  down  in 
the  guide-book,  but  we  were  assured  of  the  fact 
at  the  Harrisburg  depot.  By  and  by  came  the 
reply  from  Dr.  Wilson's  telegraphic  message  : 
nothing  had  been  heard  of  the  Captain  at  Cham- 
bersburg.  Still  later,  another  message  came 
from  our  Philadelphia  friend,  saying  that  he  was 

seen  on  Friday  last  at  the  house  of  Mrs.  K , 

a  well-known  Union  lady  in  Hagerstown.     Now 


90     MY  HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN." 

this  could  not  be  true,  for  he  did  not  leave 
Keedysville  until  Saturday ;  but  the  name  of 
the  lady  furnished  a  clew  by  which  we  could 
probably  track  him.  A  telegram  was  at  once 

sent  to  Mrs.  K ,  asking  information.    It  was 

transmitted  immediately,  but  when  the  answer 
would  be  received  was  uncertain,  as  the  Gov 
ernment  almost  monopolized  the  line.  I  was, 
on  the  whole,  so  well  satisfied  that  the  Captain 
had  gone  East,  that,  unless  something  were 
heard  to  the  contrary,  I  proposed  following  him 
in  the  late  train  leaving  a  little  after  midnight 
for  Philadelphia. 

This  same  morning  we  visited  several  of  the 
temporary  hospitals,  churches  and  school-houses, 
where  the  wounded  were  lying.  In  one  of 
these,  after  looking  round  as  usual,  I  asked 
aloud,  "  Any  Massachusetts  men  here  ?  "  Two 
bright  faces  lifted  themselves  from  their  pillows 
and  welcomed  me  by  name.  The  one  nearest 
me  was  private  John  B.  Noyes,  of  Company  B, 
Massachusetts  Thirteenth,  son  of  my  old  college 
class-tutor,  now  the  reverend  and  learned  Pro 
fessor  of  Hebrew,  etc.,  in  Harvard  University. 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN."     Ul 

His  neiglibor  was  Corporal  Armstrong  of  the 
same  Company.  Both  were  slightly  wounded, 
doing  well.  I  learned  then  and  since  from  Mr. 
Noyes  that  they  and  their  comrades  were  com 
pletely  overwhelmed  by  the  attentions  of  the 
good  people  of  Harrisburg,  —  that  the  ladies 
brought  them  fruits  and  flowers,  and  smiles, 
better  than  either,  —  and  that  the  little  boys  of 
the  place  were  almost  fighting  for  the  privilege 
of  doing  their  errands.  I  am  afraid  there  will 
be  a  good  many  hearts  pierced  in  this  war  that 
will  have  no  bullet-mark  to  show. 

There  were  some  heavy  hours  to  get  rid  of, 
and  we  thought  a  visit  to  Camp  Curtin  might 
lighten  some  of  them.  A  rickety  wagon  carried 
us  to  the  camp,  in  company  with  a  young  wo 
man  from  Troy,  who  had  a  basket  of  good  things 
with  her  for  a  sick  brother.  "  Poor  boy !  he 
will  be  sure  to  die,"  she  said.  The  rustic  sen 
tries  uncrossed  their  muskets  and  let  us  in. 
The  camp  was  on  a  fair  plain,  girdled  with  hills, 
spacious,  well  kept  apparently,  but  did  not  pre 
sent  any  peculiar  attraction  for  us.  The  visit 
would  have  been  a  dull  one,  had  we  not  hap- 


92     MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN." 

pened  to  get  sight  of  a  singular-looking  set  of 
human  beings  in  the  distance.  They  were  clad 
in  stuff  of  different  hues,  gray  and  brown  be 
ing  the  leading  shades,  but  both  subdued  by  a 
neutral  tint,  such  as  is  wont  to  harmonize  the 
variegated  apparel  of  travel-stained  vagabonds. 
They  looked  slouchy,  listless,  torpid,  —  an  ill- 
conditioned  crew,  at  first  sight,  made  up  of  such 
fellows  as  an  old  woman  would  drive  away  from 
her  hen-roost  with  a  broomstick.  Yet  these 
were  estrays  from  the  fiery  army  which  has 
given  our  generals  so  much  trouble,  —  "  Secesh 
prisoners,"  as  a  bystander  told  us.  A  talk  with 
them  might  be  profitable  and  entertaining.  But 
they  were  tabooed  to  the  common  visitor,  and  it 
was  necessary  to  get  inside  of  the  line  which  sep 
arated  us  from  them. 

A  solid,  square  captain  was  standing  near  by, 
to  whom  we  were  referred.  Look  a  man  calmly 
through  the  very  centre  of  his  pupils  and  ask 
him  for  anything  with  a  tone  implying  entire 
conviction  that  he  will  grant  it,  and  he  will  very 
commonly  consent  to  the  thing  asked,  were  it  to 
commit  hari-kari.  The  Captain  acceded  to  my 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN."     93 

postulate,  and  accepted  my  friend  as  a  corollary. 
As  one  string  of  my  own  ancestors  was  of  Bata- 
vian  origin,  I  may  be  permitted  to  say  thai  my 
new  friend  was  of  the  Dutch  type,  like  the 
Amsterdam  galiots,  broad  in  the  beam,  capa 
cious  in  the  hold,  and  calculated  to  carry  a 
heavy  cargo  rather  than  to  make  fast  time.  He 
must  have  been  in  politics  at  some  time  or  other, 
for  he  made  orations  to  all  the  "  Secesh,"  in 
which  he  explained  to  them  that  the  United 
States  considered  and  treated  them  like  children, 
and  enforced  upon  them  the  ridiculous  impossi 
bility  of  the  Rebels'  attempting  to  do  anything 
against  such  a  power  as  that  of  the  National 
Government. 

Much  as  his  discourse  edified  them  and  en 
lightened  me,  it  interfered  somewhat  with  my 
little  plans  of  entering  into  frank  and  friendly 
talk  with  some  of  these  poor  fellows,  for  whom 
I  could  not  help  feeling  a  kind  of  human  sym 
pathy,  though  I  am  as  venomous  a  hater  of  the 
Rebellion  as  one  is  like  to  find  under  the  stars 
and  stripes.  It  is  fair  to  take  a  man  prisoner. 
It  is  fair  to  make  speeches  to  a  man.  But  to 


94     MY  HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN." 

take  a  man  prisoner  and  then  make  speeches  to 
him  while  in  durance  is  not  fair. 

I  began  a  few  pleasant  conversations,  which 
would  have  come  to  something  but  for  the 
reason  assigned. 

One  old  fellow  had  a  long  beard,  a  drooping 
eyelid,  and  a  black  clay  pipe  in  his  mouth.  He 
was  a  Scotchman  from  Ayr,  dour  enough,  and 
little  disposed  to  be  communicative,  though  I 
tried  him  with  the  "  Twa  Briggs,"  and,  like  all 
Scotchmen,  he  was  a  reader  of  "  Burrns."  He 
professed  to  feel  no  interest  in  the  cause  for 
which  he  was  fighting,  and  was  in  the  army, 
I  judged,  only  from  compulsion.  There  was  a 
wild-haired,  unsoaped  boy,  with  pretty,  foolish 
features  enough,  who  looked  as  if  he  might  be 
about  seventeen,  as  he  said  he  was.  I  give  my 
questions  and  his  answers  literally. 

"  What  State  do  you  come  from  ?  " 

"  Georgy." 

"  What  part  of  Georgia  ?  " 

"  Midway"     • 

—  [How  odd  that  is  !  My  father  was  settled 
for  seven  years  as  pastor  over  the  church  at 


MY  ILL'\'T  Al-'TER  "THE  CAPTAIN"     95 

Midway,  Georgia,  and  this  youth  is  very  prob 
ably  a  grandson  or  great  grandson  of  one  of  his 
parishioners.]  — 

"  Where  did  you  go  to  church  when  you 
were  at  home  ?  " 

"  Never  went  inside  T  a  church  b't  once  in 
m  life." 

"  What  did  you  do  before  you  became  a 
soldier?" 

"  Nothin  V 

"  What  do  you  mean  to  do  when  you  get 
back  ?  " 

«  Nothin'." 

Who  could  have  any  other  feeling  *han  pity 
for  this  poor  human  weed,  this  dwarfed  and 
etiolated  soul,  doomed  by  neglect  to  an  existence 
but  one  degree  above  that  of  the  idiot  ? 

With  the  group  was  a  lieutenant,  buttoned 
close  in  his  gray  coat,  —  one  button  gone,  per 
haps  to  make  a  breastpin  for  some  fair  traitorous 
bosom.  A  short,  stocky  man,  undistinguishable 
from  one  of  the  "  subject  race  "  by  any  obvious 
meanderings  of  the  sangre  azul  on  his  exposed 
surfaces.  He  did  not  say  much,  possibly  because 


96     MY  HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN." 

he  was  convinced  by  the  statements  and  argu 
ments  of  the  Dutch  captain.  He  had  on  strong, 
iron-heeled  shoes,  of  English  make,  which  he 
said  cost  him  seventeen  dollars  in  Richmond. 

I  put  the  question,  in  a  quiet,  friendly  way,  to 
several  of  the  prisoners,  what  they  were  fighting 
for.  One  answered,  "  For  our  homes."  Two 
or  three  others  said  they  did  not  know,  and 
manifested  great  indifference  to  the  whole  matter, 
at  which  another  of  their  number,  a  sturdy  fel 
low,  took  offence,  and  muttered  opinions  strongly 
derogatory  to  those  who  would  not  stand  up  for 
the  cause  they  had  been  fighting  for.  A  feeble, 
attenuated  old  man,  who  wore  the  Rebel  uni 
form,  if  such  it  could  be  called,  stood  by  without 
showing  any  sign  of  intelligence.  It  was  cutting 
very  close  to  the  bone  to  carve  such  a  shred  of 
humanity  from  the  body  politic  to  make  a  sol 
dier  of. 

We  were  just  leaving,  when  a  face  attracted 
me,  and  I  stopped  the  party.  "  That  is  the  true 
Southern  type,"  I  said  to  my  companion.  A 
young  fellow,  a  little  over  twenty,  rather  tall, 
slight,  with  a  perfectly  smooth,  boyish  cheek, 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN."     97 

delicate,  somewhat  high  features,  and  a  fine, 
almost  feminine  mouth,  stood  at  the  opening  of 
his  tent,  and  as  we  turned  towards  him  fidgeted 
a  little  nervously  with  one  hand  at  the  loose 
canvas,  while  he  seemed  at  the  same  time  not 
unwilling  to  talk.  He  was  from  Mississippi,  he 
said,  had  been  at  Georgetown  College,  and  was 
so  far  imbued  with  letters  that  even  the  name  of 
the  literary  humility  before  him  was  not  new  to 
his  ears.  Of  course  I  found  it  easy  to  come  into 
magnetic  relation  with  him,  and  to  ask  him  with 
out  incivility  what  he  was  fighting  for.  "  Because 
I  like  the  excitement  of  it,"  he  answered.  I 
know  those  fighters  with  women's  mouths  and 
boys'  cheeks.  One  such  from  the  circle  of  my 
own  friends,  sixteen  years  old,  slipped  away  from 
his  nursery,  and  dashed  in  under  an  assumed 
name  among  the  red-legged  Zouaves,  in  whose 
company  he  got  an  ornamental  bullet-mark  in 
one  of  the  earliest  conflicts  of  the  war. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  a  genuine  Yankee  ?"  said 
my  Philadelphia  friend  to  the  young  Mississip- 
pian. 

"  I  have  shot  at  a  good  many  of  them,"  he 


98     MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN." 

replied,  modestly,  his  woman's  mouth  stirring  a 
little,  with  a  pleasant,  dangerous  smile. 

The  Dutch  captain  here  put  his  foot  into  the 
conversation,  as  his  ancestors  used  to  put  theirs 
into  the  scale,  wrhen  they  were  buying  furs  of 
the  Indians  by  weight,  —  so  much  for  the  weight 
of  a  hand,  so  much  for  the  weight  of  a  foot.  It 
deranged  the  balance  of  our  intercourse  ;  there 
was  no  use  in  throwing  a  fly  where  a  paving- 
stone  had  just  splashed  into  the  water,  and  I 
nodded  a  good-by  to  the  boy-fighter,  thinking 
how  much  pleasanter  it  was  for  my  friend  the 
Captain  to  address  him  with  unanswerable  argu 
ments  and  crushing  statements  in  his  own  tent 
than  it  would  be  to  meet  him  upon  some  remote 
picket  station  and  offer  his  fair  proportions  to 
the  quick  eye  of  a  youngster  who  would  draw  a 
bead  on  him  before  he  had  time  to  say  dander 
and  blixum. 

We  drove  back  to  the  town.  No  message. 
After  dinner  still  no  message.  Dr.  Cuyler, 
Chief  Army-Hospital  Inspector,  is  m  town,  they 
say.  Let  us  hunt  him  up,  —  perhaps  he  can 
help  us. 


.17  r  III' XT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN."     99 

We  found  him  at  the  Jones  House.  A  gentle 
man  of  large  proportions,  but  of  lively  tempera 
ment,  his  frame  knit  in  the  North,  I  think,  but 
ripened  in  Georgia,  incisive,  prompt,  but  good- 
humored,  wearing  his  broad-brimmed,  steeple- 
crowned  felt  hat  with  the  least  possible  tilt  on 
one  side, — a  sure  sign  of  exuberant  vitality  in 
a  mature  and  dignified  person  like  him,  —  busi 
ness-like  in  his  ways,  and  not  to  be  interrupted 
while  occupied  with  another,  but  giving  himself 
up  heartily  to  the  claimant  who  held  him  for  the 
time.  He  was  so  genial,  so  cordial,  so  encourag 
ing,  that  it  seemed  as  if  the  clouds,  which  had 
been  thick  all  the  morning,  broke  away  as  we 
came  into  his  presence,  and  the  sunshine  of  his 
large  nature  filled  the  air  all  around  us.  He 
took  the  matter  in  hand  at  once,  as  if  it  were  his 
own  private  affair.  In  ten  minutes  he  had  a 
second  telegraphic  message  on  its  way  to  Mrs. 
K at  Hagerstovvn,  sent  through  the  Gov 
ernment  channel  from  the  State  Capitol,  —  one 
so  direct  and  urgent  that  I  should  be  sure  of 
an  answer  to  it,  whatever  became  of  the  one  I 
had  sent  in  the  morning. 


100   MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN:' 

While  this  was  going  on,  we  hired  a  dilapi 
dated  barouche,  driven  by  an  odd  young  native, 
neither  boy  nor  man,  "  as  a  codling  when  't  is 
almost  an  apple,"  who  said  wen/ for  very,  simple 
and  sincere,  who  smiled  faintly  at  our  pleasant 
ries,  always  with  a  certain  reserve  of  suspicion, 
and  a  gleam  of  the  shrewdness  that  all  men  get 
who  live  in  the  atmosphere  of  horses.  He  drove 
us  round  by  the  Capitol  grounds,  white  with 
tents,  which  were  disgraced  in  my  eyes  by  un- 
soldierly  scrawls  in  huge  letters,  thus :  THE 
SEVEN  BLOOMSBURY  BROTHERS,  DEVIL'S  HOLE, 
and  similar  inscriptions.  Then  to  the  Beacon 
Street  of  Harrisburg,  which  looks  upon  the  Sus- 
quehanna  instead  of  the  Common,  and  shows  a 
long  front  of  handsome  houses  with  fair  gardens. 
The  river  is  pretty  nearly  a  mile  across  here,  but 
very  shallow  now.  The  codling  told  us  that  a 
Rebel  spy  had  been  caught  trying  its  fords  a 
little  while  ago,  and  was  now  at  Camp  Curtin 
with  a  heavy  ball  chained  to  his  leg,  —  a  popu 
lar  story,  but  a  lie,  Dr.  Wilson  said.  A  little 
farther  along  we  came  to  the  barkless  stump  of 
the  tree  to  which  Mr.  Harris,  the  Cecrops  of 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN."  101 

the  city  named  after  him,  was  tied  by  the  Indians 
for  some  unpleasant  operation  of  scalping  or 
roasting,  when  he  was  rescued  by  friendly 
savages,  who  paddled  across  the  stream  to  save 
him.  Our  youngling  pointed  out  a  very  respect 
able-looking  stone  house  as  having  been  "  built 
by  the  Indians "  about  those  times.  Guides 
have  queer  notions  occasionally. 

I  was  at  Niagara  just  when  Dr.  Rae  arrived 
there  with  his  companions  and  dogs  and  things 
from  his  Arctic  search  after  the  lost  navigator. 

"  Who  are  those  ?  "  I  said  to  my  conduc 
tor. 

"  Them  ?  "  he  answered.  "  Them  's  the  men 
that 's  been  out  West,  out  to  Michig'n,  aft'  Sir 
Ben  Franklin:' 

Of  the  other  sights  of  Harrisburg  the  Brant 
House  or  Hotel,  or  whatever  it  is  called,  seems 
most  worth  notice.  Its  facade  is  imposing,  witli 
a  row  of  stately  columns,  high  above  which  a 
broad  sign  impends,  like  a  crag  over  the  brow  of 
a  lofty  precipice.  The  lower  floor  only  appeared 
to  be  open  to  the  public.  Its  tessellated  pave 
ment  and  ample  courts  suggested  the  idea  of  a 


102  MY  HUNT  AFTER  "THE  CAPTAIN." 

temple  where  great  multitudes  might  kneel  un- 
crowded  at  their  devotions ;  but,  from  appear 
ances  about  the  place  where  the  altar  should  be, 
I  judged,  that,  if  one  asked  the  officiating  priest 
for  the  cup  which  cheers  and  likewise  inebriates, 
his  prayer  would  not  be  unanswered.  The  edi 
fice  recalled  to  me  a  similar  phenomenon  I  had 
once  looked  upon,  —  the  famous  Gaffe  Pedrocchi 
at  Padua.  It  was  the  same  thing  in  Italy  and 
America  :  a  rich  man  builds  himself  a  mauso 
leum,  and  calls  it  a  place  of  entertainment.  The 
fragrance  of  innumerable  libations  and  the 
smoke  of  incense-breathing  cigars  and  pipes 
shall  ascend  day  and  night  through  the  arches 
of  his  funeral  monument.  What  are  the  poor 
dips  which  flare  and  flicker  on  the  crowns  of 
spikes  that  stand  at  the  corners  of  St.  Gene- 
vieve's  filigree-cased  sarcophagus  to  this  per 
petual  offering  of  sacrifice  ? 

Ten  o'clock  in  the  evening  was  approaching. 
The  telegraph-office  would  presently  close,  and 
as  yet  there  were  no  tidings  from  Hagerstown. 
Let  us  step  over  and  see  for  ourselves.  A  mes 
sage  !  A  message ! 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN."  103 

"  Captain  H  still  here  leaves  seven  to-morrow 
for  Harrisburg  Penna  Is  doing  well 

Mrs  HK ." 

A  note  from  Dr.  Cuyler  to  the  same  effect 
came  soon  afterwards  to  the  hotel. 

We  shall  sleep  well  to-night  ;  but  let  us  sit 
awhile  with  nubiferous,  or,  if  we  may  coin  a 
word,  nepheligenous  accompaniment,  such  as 
shall  gently  narcotize  the  over-wearied  brain 
and  fold  its  convolutions  for  slumber  like  the 
leaves  of  ii  lily  at  nightfall.  For  now  the  over- 
tense  nerves  are  all  unstraining  themselves,  and 
a  buzz,  like  that  which  comes  over  one  who 
stops  after  being  long  jolted  upon  an  uneasy 
pavement,  makes  the  whole  frame  alive  with  a 
luxurious  languid  sense  of  all  its  inmost  fibres. 
Our  cheerfulness  ran  over,  and  the  mild,  pen 
sive  clerk  was  so  magnetized  by  it  that  he  came 
and  sat  down  with  us.  He  presently  confided 
to  me,  with  infinite  ndiveti  and  ingenuousness, 
that,  judging  from  my  personal  appearance,  he 
should  not  have  thought  me  the  writer  that  he 
in  his  generosity  reckoned  me  to  be.  His  con- 


104  MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN." 

ception,  so  far  as  I  could  reach  it,  involved  a 
huge,  uplifted  forehead,  embossed  with  protu 
berant  organs  of  the  intellectual  faculties,  such 
as  all  writers  are  supposed  to  possess  in  abound 
ing  measure.  While  I  fell  short  of  his  ideal  in 
this  respect,  he  was  pleased  to  say  that  he  found 
me  by  no  means  the  remote  and  inaccessible 
personage  he  had  imagined,  and  that  I  had 
nothing  of  the  dandy  about  me,  which  last  com 
pliment  I  had  a  modest  consciousness  of  most 
abundantly  deserving. 

Sweet  slumbers  brought  us  to  the  morning  of 
Thursday.  The  train  from  Hagerstown  was 
due  at  11.15  A.  M.  We  took  another  ride 
behind  the  codling,  who  showed  us  the  sights 
of  yesterday  over  again.  Being  in  a  gracious 
mood  of  mind,  I  enlarged  on  the  varying  as 
pects  of  the  town-pumps  and  other  striking 
objects  which  we  had  once  inspected,  as  seen 
by  the  different  lights  of  evening  and  morning. 
After  this,  we  visited  the  school-house  hospital. 
A  fine  young  fellow,  whose  arm  had  been  shat 
tered,  was  just  falling  into  the  spasms  of  lock 
jaw.  The  beads  of  sweat  stood  large  and 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN."  105 

round  on  his  flushed  and  contracted  features. 
He  was  under  the  effect  of  opiates,  —  why  not 
(if  his  case  was  desperate,  as  it  seemed  to  be 
considered)  stop  his  sufferings  with  chloroform  ? 
It  was  suggested  that  it  might  shorten  life. 
"What  then?"  I  said.  "Are  a  dozen  addi 
tional  spasms  worth  living  for  ?  " 

The  time  approached  for  the  train  to  arrive 
from  Hagerstown,  and  we  went  to  the  station. 
I  was  struck,  while  waiting  there,  with  what 
seemed  to  me  a  great  want  of  ca*re  for.  the 
safety  of  the  people  standing  round.  Just  after 
my  companion  and  myself  had  stepped  off  the 
track,  I  noticed  a  car  coming  quietly  along  at  a 
walk,  as  one  may  say,  without  engine,  without 
visible  conductor,  without  any  person  heralding 
its  approach,  so  silently,  so  insidiously,  that  I 
could  not  help  thinking  how  very  near  it  came 
to  flattening  out  me  and  my  match-box  worse 
than  the  Ravel  pantomimist  and  his  snuff-box 
were  flattened  out  in  the  play.  The  train  was 
late,  —  fifteen  minutes,  half  an  hour  late,  —  and 
I  began  to  get  nervous,  lest  something  had  hap 
pened.  While  I  was  looking  for  it,  out  started 

5* 


106  MY  HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN." 

a  freight-train,  as  if  on  purpose  to  meet  the 
cars  I  was  expecting,  for  a  grand  smash-up.  I 
shivered  at  the  thought,  and  asked  an  employS 
of  the  road,  with  whom  I  had  formed  an  ac 
quaintance  a  few  minutes  old,  why  there  should 
not  be  a  collision  of  the  expected  train  with 
this  which  was  just  going  out.  He  smiled 
an  official  smile,  and  answered  that  they 
arranged  to  prevent  that,  or  words  to  that 
effect. 

Twenty-four  hours  had  not  passed  from  that 
moment  when  a  collision  did  occur,  just  out  of 
the  city,  where  I  feared  it,  by  which  at  least 
eleven  persons  were  killed,  and  from  forty  to 
sixty  more  were  maimed  and  crippled  ! 

To-day  there  was  the  delay  spoken  of,  but 
nothing  worse.  The  expected  train  came  in  so 
quietly  that  I  was  almost  startled  to  see  it  on 
the  track.  Let  us  walk  calmly  through  the 
cars,  and  look  around  us. 

In  the  first  car,  on  the  fourth  seat  to  the 
right,  I  saw  my  Captain;  there  saw  I  him, 
even  my  first-born,  whom  I  had  sought  through 
many  cities. 


.17)'  HUNT  AFTER  "THE  CAPTAIN."  107 

•  How  are  you,  Boy  ?  " 

•  How  are  you,  Dad  ?  " 


Such  are  the  proprieties  of  life,  as  they  are 
observed  among  us  Anglo-Saxons  of  the  nine 
teenth  century,  decently  disguising  those  natural 
impulses  that  made  Joseph,  the  Prime-Minister 
of  Egypt,  weep  aloud  so  that  the  Egyptians  and 
the  house  of  Pharaoh  heard,  —  nay,  which  had 
once  overcome  his  shaggy  old  uncle  Esau  so 
entirely  that  he  fell  on  his  brother's  neck  and 
cried  like  a  baby  in  the  presence  of  all  the 
women.  But  the  hidden  cisterns  of  the  soul 
may  be  filling  fast  with  sweet  tears,  while  the 
windows  through  which  it  looks  are  undimmed 
by  a  drop  or  a  film  of  moisture. 

These  are  times  in  which  we  cannot  live 
solely  for  selfish  joys  or  griefs.  I  had  not  let 
fall  the  hand  I  held,  when  a  sad,  calm  voice 
addressed  me  by  name.  I  fear  that  at  the 
moment  I  was  too  much  absorbed  in  my  own 
feelings  ;  for  certainly  at  any  other  time  I 
should  have  yielded  myself  without  stint  to  the 
sympathy  which  this  meeting  might  well  call 
forth. 


108  MY  HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN." 

"  You  remember  my  son,  Cortland  Saunders, 
whom  I  brought  to  see  you  once  in  Boston  ?  " 

"  I  do  remember  him  well." 

"  He  was  killed  on  Monday,  at  Shepherds- 
town.  I  am  carrying  his  body  back  with  me 
on  this  train.  He  was  my  only  child.  If  you 
could  come  to  my  house,  —  I  can  hardly  call  it 
my  home  now,  — it  would  be  a  pleasure  to  me." 

This  young  man,  belonging  in  Philadelphia, 
was  the  author  of  a  "  New  System  of  Latin  Par 
adigms,"  a  work  showing  extraordinary  schol 
arship  and  capacity.  It  was  this  book  which 
first  made  me  acquainted  with  him,  and  I  kept 
him  in  my  memory,  for  there  was  genius  in  the 
youth.  Some  time  afterwards  he  came  to  me 
with  a  modest  request  to  be  introduced  to  Presi 
dent  Felton,  and  one  or  two  others,  who  would 
aid  him  in  a  course  of  independent  study  he  was 
proposing  to  himself.  I  was  most  happy  to 
smooth  the  way  for  him,  and  he  came  repeat 
edly  after  this  to  see  me  and  express  his  satis 
faction  in  the  opportunities  for  study  he  enjoyed 
at  Cambridge.  He  was  a  dark,  still,  slender 
person,  always  with  a  trance-like  remoteness,  a 


.17 )   HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN."  109 

mystic  dreaminess  of  manner,  such  as  I  never 
saw  in  any  other  youth.  Whether  he  heard 
with  difficulty,  or  whether  his  mind  reacted 
slowly  on  an  alien  thought,  I  could  not  say ; 
but  his  answer  would  often  be  behind  time,  and 
then  a  vague,  sweet  smile,  or  a  few  words  spok 
en  under  his  breath,  as  if  he  had  been  trained  in 
sick  men's'  chambers.  For  such  a  young  man, 
seemingly  destined  for  the  inner  life  of  contem 
plation,  to  be  a  soldier  seemed  almost  unnatural. 
Yet  he  spoke  to  me  of  his  intention  to  offer 
himself  to  his  country,  and  his  blood  must  now 
be  reckoned  among  the  precious  sacrifices  which 
will  make  her  soil  sacred  forever.  Had  he 
lived,  I  doubt  not  that  he  would  have  redeemed 
the  rare  promise  of  his  earlier  years.  He  has 
done  better,  for  he  has  died  that  unborn  gen 
erations  may  attain  the  hopes  held  out  to  our 
nation  and  to  mankind. 

So,  then,  I  had  been  within  ten  miles  of  the 
place  where  my  wounded  soldier  was  lying,  and 
then  calmly  turned  my  back  upon  him  to  come 
once  more  round  by  a  journey  of  three  or  four 
hundred  miles  to  the  same  region  I  had  left! 


110  MY  HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN." 

No  mysterious  attraction  warned  me  that  the 
heart  warm  with  the  same  blood  as  mine  was 
throbbing  so  near  my  own.  I  thought  of  that 
lovely,  tender  passage  where  Gabriel  glides  un 
consciously  by  Evangeline  upon  the  great  river. 
Ah,  me !  if  that  railroad-crash  had  been  a  few 
hours  earlier,  we  two  should  never  have  met 
again,  after  coining  so  close  to  each  other! 

The  source  of  my  repeated  disappointments 
was  soon  made  clear  enough.  The  Captain  had 
gone  to  Hagerstown,  intending  to  take  the  cars 
at  once  for  Philadelphia,  as  his  three  friends 
actually  did,  and  as  I  took  it  for  granted  he 
certainly  would.  But  as  he  walked  languidly 
along,  some  ladies  saw  him  across  the  street, 
and  seeing,  were  moved  with  pity,  and  pitying, 
spoke  such  soft  words  that  he  was  tempted  to 
accept  their  invitation  and  rest  awhile  beneath 
their  hospitable  roof.  The  mansion  was  old,  as 
the  dwellings  of  gentlefolks  should  be  ;  the 
ladies  were  some  of  them  young,  and  all  were 
full  of  kindness ;  there  were  gentle  cares,  and 
unasked  luxuries,  and  pleasant  talk,  and  music- 
sprinklings  from  the  piano,  with  a  sweet  voice 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN."  Ill 

to  keep  them  company,  —  and  all  this  after  the 
swamps  of  the  Chickahominy,  the  mud  and  flies 
of  Harrison's  Landing,  the  dragging  marches, 
the  desperate  battles,  the  fretting  wound,  the 
jolting  ambulance,  the  log-house,  and  the  rick 
ety  milk-cart!  Thanks,  uncounted  thanks  to 
the  angelic  ladies  whose  charming  attentions 
detained  him  from  Saturday  to  Thursday,  to  his 
great  advantage  and  my  infinite  bewilderment ! 
As  for  his  wound,  how  could  it  do  otherwise 
than  well  under  such  hands  ?  The  bullet  had 
gone  smoothly  through,  dodging  everything  but 
a  few  nervous  branches,  which  would  come 
right  in  time  and  leave  him  as  well  as  ever. 

At  ten  that  evening  we  were  in  Philadel 
phia,  the  Captain  at  the  house  of  the  friends 
so  often  referred  to,  and  I  the  guest  of  Char 
ley,  my  kind  companion.  The  Quaker  element 
gives  an  irresistible  attraction  to  these  benig 
nant  Philadelphia  households.  Many  things 
reminded  me  that  I  was  no  longer  in  the  land 
of  the  Pilgrims.  On  the  table  were  Kool  Slaa 
and  Schmeer  Kase,  but  the  good  grandmother 
who  dispensed  with  such  quiet,  simple  grace 


112  MY  HUNT  AFTER  "THE  CAPTAIN." 

these  and  more  familiar  delicacies  was  literally 
ignorant  of  Baked  Beans,  and  asked  if  it  was 
the  Lima  bean  which  was  employed  in  that  mar 
vellous  dish  of  animalized  leguminous  farina ! 

Charley  was  pleased  with  my  comparing  the 
face  of  the  small  Ethiop  known  to  his  house 
hold  as  "  Tines "  to  a  huckleberry  with  fea 
tures.  He  also  approved  my  parallel  between 
a  certain  German  blonde  young  maiden  whom 
we  passed  in  the  street  and  the  "  Morris 
White "  peach.  But  he  was  so  good-humored 
at  times,  that,  if  one  scratched  a  lucifer,  he 
„  accepted  it  as  an  illumination. 

A  day  in  Philadelphia  left  a  very  agreeable 
impression  of  the  outside  of  that  great  city, 
which  has  endeared  itself  so  much  of  late  to 
all  the  country  by  its  most  noble  and  generous 
care  of  our  soldiers.  Measured  by  its  sover 
eign  hotel,  the  Continental,  it  would  stand  at 
the  head  of  our  economic  civilization.  It  pro 
vides  for  the  comforts  and  conveniences,  and 
many  of  the  elegances  of  life,  more  satisfac 
torily  than  any  American  city,  perhaps  than 
any  other  city  anywhere.  Many  of  its  char- 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN."  113 

acteristics  are  accounted  for  to  some  extent 
by  its  geographical  position.  It  is  the  great 
neutral  centre  of  the  Continent,  where  the 
fiery  enthusiasms  of  the  South  and  the  keen 
fanaticisms  of  the  North  meet  at  their  outer 
limits,  and  result  in  a  compound  which  nei 
ther  turns  litmus  red  nor  turmeric  brown.  It 
lives  largely  on  its  traditions,  of  which,  leaving 
out  Franklin  and  Independence  Hall,  the  most 
imposing  must  be  considered  its  famous  water 
works.  In  my  younger  days  I  visited  Fair- 
mount,  and  it  was  with  a  pious  reverence  that 
I  renewed  my  pilgrimage  to  that  perennial 
fountain.  Its  watery  ventricles  were  throb 
bing  with  the  same  systole  and  diastole  as 
when,  the  blood  of  twenty  years  bounding  in 
my  own  heart,  I  looked  upon  their  giant  mech 
anism.  But  in  the  place  of  "  Pratt's  Garden  " 
was  an  open  park,  and  the  old  house  where 
Robert  Morris  held  his  court  in  a  former  gen 
eration  was  changing  to  a  public  restaurant. 
A  suspension-bridge  cobwebbed  itself  across  the 
Schuylkill  where  that  audacious  arch  used  to 
leap  the  river  at  a  single  bound,  —  an  arch 


114  MY  HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN." 

of  greater  span,  as  they  loved  to  tell  us,  than 
was  ever  before  constructed.  The  Upper  Ferry 
Bridge  was  to  the  Schuylkill  what  the  Colos 
sus  was  to  the  harbor  of  Rhodes.  It  had  an 
air  of  dash  about  it  which  went  far  towards 
redeeming  the  dead  level  of  respectable  aver 
age  which  flattens  the  physiognomy  of  the 
rectangular  city.  Philadelphia  will  never  be 
herself  again  until  another  Robert  Mills  and 
another  Lewis  Wernwag  have  shaped  her  a 
new  palladium.  She  must  leap  the  Schuylkill 
again,  or  old  men  will  sadly  shake  their  heads, 
like  the  Jews  at  the  sight  of  the  second  temple, 
remembering  the  glories  of  that  which  it  re 
placed. 

There  are  times  when  Ethiopian  minstrelsy 
can  amuse,  if  it  does  not  charm,  a  weary  soul, 
and  such  a  vacant  hour  there  was  on  this  same 
Friday  evening.  The  u  opera-house  "  was  spa 
cious  and  admirably  ventilated.  As  I  was 
listening  to  the  merriment  of  the  sooty  buf 
foons,  I  happened  to  cast  my  eyes  up  to  the 
ceiling,  and  through  an  open  semicircular  win 
dow  a  bright  solitary  star  looked  me  calmly 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "THE  CAPTAIN."  115 

in  the  eyes.  It  was  a  strange  intrusion  of 
the  vast  eternities  beckoning  from  the  infinite 
spaces.  I  called  the  attention  of  one  of  my 
neighbors  to  it,  but  "Bones"  was  irresistibly 
droll,  and  Arcturus,  or  Aldebaran,  or  what 
ever  the  blazing  luminary  may  have  been,  with 
all  his  revolving  worlds,  sailed  uncared-for 
down  the  firmament. 

On  Saturday  morning  we  took  up  our  line 
of  march  for  New  York.  Mr.  Felton,  Presi 
dent  of  the  Philadelphia,  Wilmington  and 
Baltimore  Railroad,  had  already  called  upon 
me,  with  a  benevolent  and  sagacious  look  on 
his  face  which  implied  that  he  knew  how  to 
do  me  a  service  and  meant  to  do  it.  Sure 
enough,  when  we  got  to  the  depot,  we  found 
a  couch  spread  for  the  Captain,  and  both  of  us 
were  passed  on  to  New  York  with  no  visits, 
but  those  of  civility,  from  the  conductor.  The 
best  thing  I  saw  on  the  route  was  a  rustic 
fence,  near  Elizabethtown,  I  think,  but  I  am 
not  quite  sure.  There  was  more  genius  in  it 
than  in  any  structure  ?f  the  kind  I  have  ever 
seen,  —  each  length  being  of  a  special  pattern, 


116  MY  HUNT  AFTER  »  THE  CAPTAIN." 

ramified,  reticulated,  contorted,  as  the  limbs 
of  the  trees  had  grown.  I  trust  some  friend 
will  photograph  or  stereograph  this  fence  for 
me,  to  go  with  the  view  of  the  spires  of 
Frederick  already  referred  to,  as  mementos  of 
my  journey. 

I  had  come  to  feeling  that  I  knew  most  of 
the  respectably  dressed  people  whom  I  met  in 
the  cars,  and  had  been  in  contact  with  them 
at  some  time  or  other.  Three  or  four  ladies 
and  gentlemen  were  near  us,  forming  a  group 
by  themselves.  Presently  one  addressed  me 
by  name,  and,  on  inquiry,  I  found  him  to  be 
the  gentleman  who  was  with  me  in  the  pulpit 
as  Orator  on  the  occasion  of  another  Phi  Beta 
Kappa  poem,  one  delivered  at  New  Haven. 
The  party  were  very  courteous  and  friendly, 
and  contributed  in  various  ways  to  our  com 
fort. 

It  sometimes  seems  to  me  as  if  there  were 
only  about  a  thousand  people  in  the  world, 
who  keep  going  round  and  round  behind  the 
scenes  and  then  before  them,  like  the  "army"  in 
a  beggarly  stage-show.  Suppose  that  I  should 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "THE  CAPTAIN."  117 

really  wish,  some  time  or  other,  to  get  away 
from  this  everlasting  circle  of  revolving  super 
numeraries,  where  should  I  buy  a  ticket  the 
like  of  which  was  not  in  some  of  their  pockets, 
or  find  a  seat  to  which  some  one  of  them  was 
not  a  neighbor? 

A  little  less  than  a  year  before,  after  the 
Ball's-Bluff  accident,  the  Captain,  then  the 
Lieutenant,  and  myself  had  reposed  for  a  night 
on  our  homeward  journey  at  the  Fifth-Avenue 
Hotel,  where  we  were  lodged  on  the  ground- 
floor,  and  fared  sumptuously.  We  were  not 
so  peculiarly  fortunate  this  time,  the  house  being 
really  very  full.  Farther  from  the  flowers  and 
nearer  to  the  stars,  —  to  reach  the  neighbor 
hood  of  which  last  the  per  ardua  of  three  or 
four  flights  of  stairs  was  formidable  for  any 
mortal,  wounded  or  well.  The  "  vertical  rail 
way  "  settled  that  for  us,  however.  It  is  a 
giant  corkscrew  forever  pulling  a  mammoth 
cork,  which,  by  some  divine  judgment,  is  no 
sooner  drawn  than  it  is  replaced  in  its  position. 
This  ascending  and  descending  stopper  is  hol 
low,  carpeted,  with  cushioned  seats,  and  is 


118  MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN." 

watched  over  by  two  condemned  souls,  called 
conductors,  one  of  whom  is  said  to  be  named 
Ixion,  and  the  other  Sisyphus. 

I  love  New  York,  because,  as  in  Paris,  every 
body  that  lives  in  it  feels  that  it  is  his  prop 
erty,  —  at  least,  as  much  as  it  is  anybody's. 
My  Broadway,  in  particular,  I  love  almost  as 
I  used  to  love  my  Boulevards.  I  went,  there 
fore,  with  peculiar  interest,  on  the  day  that 
we  rested  at  our  grand  hotel,  to  visit  some 
new  pleasure-grounds  the  citizens  had  been  ar 
ranging  for  us,  and  which  I  had  not  yet  seen. 
The  Central  Park  is  an  expanse  of  wild  coun 
try,  well  crumpled  so  as  to  form  ridges  which 
will  give  views  and  hollows  that  will  hold 
waiter.  The  hips  and  elbows  and  other  bones 
of  Nature  stick  out  here  and  there  in  the 
shape  of  rocks  which  give  character  to  the 
scenery,  and  an  unchangeable,  unpurchasable 
look  to  a  landscape  that  without  them  would 
have  been  in  danger  of  being  fattened  by  art 
and  money  out  of  all  its  native  features.  The 
roads  were  fine,  the  sheets  of  water  beautiful, 
the  bridges  handsome,  the  swans  elegant  in 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  »  THE  CAPTAIN."  119 

their  deportment,  the  grass  green  and  as  short 
as  a  fast  horse's  winter  coat.  I  could  not 
learn  whetKer  it  was  kept  so  by  clipping  or 
singeing.  I  was  delighted  with  my  new  prop 
erty,  —  but  it  cost  me  four  dollars  to  get  there, 
so  far  was  it  beyond  the  Pillars  of  Hercules 
of  the  fashionable  quarter.  What  it  will  be 
by  and  by  depends  on  circumstances  ;  but  at 
present  it  is  as  much  central  to  New  York  as 
Brookline  is  central  to  Boston.  The  question 
is  not  between  Mr.  Olmsted's  admirably  ar 
ranged,  but  remote  pleasure-ground  and  our 
Common,  with  its  batrachian  pool,  but  between 
his  Acentric  Park  and  our  finest  suburban 
scenery,  between  its  artificial  reservoirs  and  the 
broad  natural  sheet  of  Jamaica  Pond.  I  say 
this  not  invidiously,  but  in  justice  to  the  beau 
ties  which  surround  our  own  metropolis.  To' 
compare  the  situations  of  any  dwellings  in 
either  of  the  great  cities  with  those  which  look 
upon  the  Common,  the  Public  Garden,  the 
waters  of  the  Back  Bay,  would  be  to  take 
an  unfair  advantage  of  Fifth  Avenue  and  Wal 
nut  Street.  St.  Botolph's  daughter  dresses  in 


120  MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN." 

plainer  clothes  than  her  more  stately  sisters, 
but  she  wears  an  emerald  on  her  right  hand 
and  a  diamond  on  her  left  that  Cybele  her 
self  need  not  be  ashamed  of. 

On  Monday  morning,  the  twenty-ninth  of 
September,  we  took  the  cars  for  home.  Va 
cant  lots,  with  Irish  and  pigs  ;  vegetable-gar 
dens  ;  straggling  houses ;  the  high  bridge ; 
villages,  not  enchanting;  then  Stamford;  then 
NORWALK.  Here,  on  the  sixth  of  May,  1853, 
I  passed  close  on  the  heels  of  the  great  dis 
aster.  But  that  my  lids  were  heavy  on  that 
morning,  my  readers  would  probably  have  had 
no  further  trouble  with  me.  Two  of  my 
friends  saw  the  car  in  which  they  rode  break 
in  the  middle  and  leave  them  hanging  over 
the  abyss.  From  Norwalk  to  Boston,  that 
day's  journey  of  two  hundred  miles  was  a 
long  funeral-procession. 

Bridgeport,  waiting  for  Iranistan  to  rise 
from  its  ashes  with  all  its  phoenix-egg  domes, 
—  bubbles  of  wealth  that  broke,  ready  to  be 
blown  again,  iridescent  as  ever,  which  is  pleas 
ant,  for  the  world  likes  cheerful  Mr.  Barnum's 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN."  121 

success ;  New  Haven,  girt  with  flat  marshes 
that  look  like  monstrous  billiard-tables,  with 
hay-cocks  lying  about  for  balls,  —  romantic 
with  West  Hock  and  its  legends,  —  cursed 
with  a  detestable  depot,  whose  niggardly  ar 
rangements  crowd  the  track  so  murderously 
close  to  the  wall  that  the  peine  forte  et  dure 
must  be  the  frequent  penalty  of  an  inno 
cent  walk  on  its  platform,  —  with  its  neat 
carriages,  metropolitan  hotels,  precious  old  col 
lege-dormitories,  its  vistas  of  elms  and  its  di- 
slrevelled  weeping-willows ;  Hartford,  substan 
tial,  well-bridged,  many-steepled  city,  —  every 
conical  spire  an  extinguisher  of  some  nine 
teenth-century  heresy;  so  onward,  by  and 
across  the  broad,  shallow  Connecticut,  —  dull 
red  road  and  dark  river  woven  in  like  warp 
and  woof  by  the  shuttle  of  the  darting  en 
gine  ;  then  Springfield,  the  wide-meadowed, 
well-feeding,  horse-loving,  hot-summered,  giant- 
treed  town,  —  city  among  villages,  village 
among  cities  ;  Worcester,  with  its  Daedalian 
labyrinth  of  crossing  railroad-bars,  where  the 
snorting  Minotaurs,  breathing  fire  and  smoke 


122  MY  HUNT  AFTER  "  THE  CAPTAIN." 

and  hot  vapors,  are  stabled  in  their  dens ; 
Framingham,  fair  cup-bearer,  leaf-cinctured 
Hebe  of  the  deep-bosomed  Queen  sitting  by 
the  sea-side  on  the  throne  of  the  Six  Nations. 
And  now  I  begin  to  know  the  road,  not  by 
towns,  but  by  single  dwellings;  not  by  miles, 
but  by  rods.  The  poles  of  the  great  magnet 
that  draws  in  all  the  iron  tracks  through  the 
grooves  of  all  the  mountains  must  be  near  at 
hand,  for  here  are  crossings,  and  sudden  stops, 
and  screams  of  alarmed  engines  heard  all 
around.  The  tall  granite  obelisk  comes  into 
view  far  away  on  the  left,  its  bevelled  cap 
stone  sharp  against  the  sky ;  the  lofty  chim 
neys  of  Charlestown  and  East  Cambridge 
flaunt  their  smoky  banners  up  in  the  thin 
air ;  and  now  one  fair  bosom  of  the  three- 
hilled  city,  with  its  dome-crowned  summit, 
reveals  itself,  as  when  many-breasted  Ephesian 
Artemis  appeared  with  half-open  chlamys  be 
fore  her  worshippers. 

Fling  open  the  window-blinds  of  the  cham 
ber  that  looks  out  on  the  waters  and  towards 
the  western  sun !  Let  the  joyous  light  shine 


MY  HUNT  AFTER  «  THE  CAPTAIN."  123 

in  upon  the  pictures  that  hang  upon  its  walls 
and  the  shelves  thick-set  with  the  names  of 
poets  and  philosophers  and  sacred  teachers,  in 
whose  pages  our  boys  learn  that  life  is  noble 
only  when  it  is  held  cheap  by  the  side  of 
honor  and  of  duty.  Lay  him  in  his  own 
bed,  and  let  him  sleep  off  his  aches  and  wea 
riness.  So  comes  down  another  night  over 
this  household,  unbroken  by  any  messenger  of 
evil  tidings,  —  a  night  of  peaceful  rest  and 
grateful  thoughts  ;  for  this  our  son  and  brother 
was  dead  and  is  alive  again,  and  was  lost  and 
is  found. 


THE  STEREOSCOPE  AND  THE 
STEREOGRAPH. 


DEMOCRITUS  of  Abdera,  commonly 
known  as  the  Laughing  Philosopher, 
probably  because  he  did  not  consider  the  study 
of  truth  inconsistent  with  a  cheerful  counte 
nance,  believed  and  taught  that  all  bodies  were 
continually  throwing  off  certain  images  like 
themselves,  which  subtile  emanations,  striking 
on  our  bodily  organs,  gave  rise  to  our  sensa 
tions.  Epicurus  borrowed  the  idea  from  him, 
and  incorporated  it  into  the  famous  system,  of 
which  Lucretius  has  given  us  the  most  popular 
version.  Those  who  are  curious  on  the  matter 
will  find  the  poet's  description  at  the  beginning 
of  his  fourth  book.  Forms,  effigies,  membranes, 
or  films,  are  the  nearest  representatives  of  the 
terms  applied  to  these  effluences.  They  are 


THE  STEREOSCOPE.  125 

perpetually  shed  from  the  surfaces  of  solids, 
as  bark  is  shed  by  trees.  Cortex  is,  indeed,  one 
of  the  names  applied  to  them  by  Lucretius. 

These  evanescent  films  may  be  seen  in  one  of 
theij  aspects  in  any  clear,  calm  sheet  of  water, 
in  a  mirror,  in  the  eye  of  an  animal  by  one  who 
looks  at  it  in  front,  but  better  still  by  the  con 
sciousness  behind  the  eye  in  the  ordinary  act  of 
vision.  They  must  be  packed  like  the  leaves  of 
a  closed  book  ;  for  suppose  a  mirror  to  give  an 
image  of  an  object  a  mile  off,  it  will  give  one  at 
every  point  less  than  a  mile,  though  this  were 
subdivided  into  a  million  parts.  Yet  the  images 
will  not  be  the  same  ;  for  the  one  taken  a  mile 
off  will  be  very  small,  at  half  a  mile  as  large 
again,  at  a  hundred  feet,  fifty  times  as  large,  and 
so  on,  as  long  as  the  mirror  can  contain  the 
image. 

Under  the  action  of  light,  then,  a  body  makes 
its  superficial  aspect  potentially  present  at  a  dis 
tance,  becoming  appreciable  as  a  shadow  or  as  a 
picture.  But  remove  the  cause,  —  the  body 
itself,  —  and  the  effect  is  removed.  The  man 
beholdeth  himself  in  the  glass,  and  goeth  his 


126  THE  STEREOSCOPE 

way,  and  straightway  both  the  mirror  and  the 
mirrored  forget  what  manner  of  man  he  was. 
These  visible  films  or  membranous  exuvice  of 
objects,  which  the  old  philosophers  talked  about, 
have  no  real  existence,  separable  from  their 
illuminated  source,  and  perish  instantly  when  it 
is  withdrawn. 

If  a  man  had  handed  a  metallic  speculum  to 
Democritus  of  Abdera,  and  told  him  to  look  at 
his  face  in  it  while  his  heart  was  beating  thirty, 
or  forty  times,  promising  that  one  of  the  films 
his  face  was  shedding  should  stick  there,  so  that 
neither  he,  nor  it,  nor  anybody  should  forget 
what  manner  of  man  he  was,  the  Laughing 
Philosopher  would  probably  have  vindicated  his 
claim  to  his  title  by  an  explosion  that  would 
have  astonished  the  speaker. 

This  is  just  what  the  Daguerrotype  has  done. 
It  has  fixed  the  most  fleeting  of  our  illusions,  that 
which  the  apostle  and  the  philosopher  and  the 
poet  have  alike  used  as  the  type  of  instability  and 
unreality.  The  photograph  has  completed  the 
triumph,  by  making  a  sheet  of  paper  reflect  im 
ages  like  a  mirror  and  hold  them  as  a  picture. 


AND   THE  STEREOGRAPH.  127 

Tliis  triumph  of  human  ingenuity  is  the  most 
audacious,  remote,  improbable,  incredible,  —  the 
one  that  would  seem  least  likely  to  be  regained, 
if  all  traces  of  it  were  lost,  of  all  the  discoveries 
man  has  made.  It  has  become  such  an  every 
day  matter  with  us,  that  we  forget  its  miracu 
lous  nature,  as  we  forget  that  of  the  sun  itself, 
to  which  we  owe  the  creations  of  our  new  art. 
Yet  in  all  the  prophecies  of  dreaming  enthusiasts, 
in  all  the  random  guesses  of  the  future  conquests 
over  matter,  we  do  not  remember  any  prediction 
of  such  an  inconceivable  wonder,  as  our  neigh 
bor  round  the  corner,  or  the  proprietor  of  the 
small  house  on  wheels,  standing  on  the  village 
common,  will  furnish  any  of  us  for  the  most 
painfully  slender  remuneration.  No  Century 
of  Inventions  includes  this  among  its  possibili 
ties.  Nothing  but  the  vision  of  a  Laputan,  who 
passed  his  days  in  extracting  sunbeams  out  of 
cucumbers,  could  have  reached  such  a  height  of 
delirium  as  to  rave  about  the  time  when  a  man 
should  paint  his  miniature  by  looking  at  a  blank 
tablet,  and  a  multitudinous  wilderness  of  forest 
foliage  or  an  endless  Babel  of  roofs  and  spires 


128  THE  STEREOSCOPE 

stamp  itself,  in  a  moment,  so  faithfully  and  so 
minutely,  that  one  may  creep  over  the  surface 
of  the  picture  with  his  microscope  and  find 
every  leaf  perfect,  or  read  the  letters  of  distant 
signs,  and  see  what  was  the  play  at  the  u  Va- 
rie*tes  "  or  the  "  Victoria  "  on  the  evening  of  the 
day  when  it  was  taken,  just  as  he  would  sweep 
the  real  view  with  a  spy-glass  to  explore  all  that 
it  contains. 

Some  years  ago,  we  sent  a  page  or  two  to 
one  of  the  magazines,  —  the  "  Knickerbocker," 
if  we  remember  aright,  —  in  which  the  story 
was  told  from  the  "  Arabian  Nights,"  of  the 
three  kings'  sons,  who  each  wished  to  obtain 
the  hand  of  a  lovely  princess,  and  received  for 
answer,  that  he  who  brought  home  the  most 
wonderful  object  should  obtain  the  lady's  hand 
as  his  reward.  Our  readers,  doubtless,  remem 
ber  the  original  tale,  with  the  flying  carpet,  the 
tube  which  showed  what  a  distant  friend  was 
doing  by  looking  into  it,  and  the  apple  which 
gave  relief  to  the  most  desperate  sufferings  only 
by  inhalation  of  its  fragrance.  The  railroad- 
car,  the  telegraph,  and  the  apple-flavored  chlo- 


AND   THE  STEREOGRAPH.  129 

reform,  could  and  do  realize,  every  day, — as 
was  stated  in  the  passage  referred  to,  with  a 
certain  rhetorical  amplitude  not  doubtfully  sug 
gestive  of  the  lecture-room,  —  all  that  was 
fabled  to  have  been  done  by  the  carpet,  the 
tube,  and  the  fruit  of  the  Arabian  story. 

All  these  inventions  force  themselves  upon  us 
to  the  full  extent  of  their  significance.  It  is 
therefore  hardly  necessary  to  waste  any  con 
siderable  amount  of  rhetoric  upon  wonders  that 
are  so  thoroughly  appreciated.  When  human 
art  says  to  each  one  of  us,  I  will  give  you  ears 
that  can  hear  a  whisper  in  New  Orleans,  and 
legs  that  can  walk  six  hundred  miles  in  a  day, 
and  if,  in  consequence  of  any  defect  of  rail  or 
carriage,  you  should  be  so  injured  that  your 
own  very  insignificant  walking  members  must 
be  taken  off,  I  can  make  the  surgeon's  visit  a 
pleasant  dream  for  you,  on  awaking  from  which 
you  will  ask  when  he  is  coming  to  do  that 
which  he  has  done  already,  —  what  is  the  use 
of  poetical  or  rhetorical  amplification  ?  But 
this  other  invention  of  the  mirror  with  a  memory, 
and  especially  that  application  of  it  which  has 
6*  i 


130  THE  STEREOSCOPE 

given  us  the  wonders  of  the  stereoscope,  is  not 
so  easily,  completely,  universally  recognized  in 
all  the  immensity  of  its  applications  and  sug 
gestions.  The  stereoscope,  and  the  pictures  it 
gives,  are,  however,  common  enough  to  be  in 
the  hands  of  many  of  our  readers  ;  and  as  many 
of  those  who  are  not  acquainted  with  it  must 
before  long  become  as  familiar  with  it  as  they 
are  now  with  friction-matches,  we  feel  sure  that 
a  few  pages  relating  to  it  will  not  be  unaccept 
able. 

Our  readers  may  like  to  know  the  outlines  of 
the  process  of  making  daguerrotypes  and  pho 
tographs,  as  just  furnished  us  by  Mr.  Whipple, 
one  of  the  most  successful  operators  in  this 
country.  We  omit  many  of  those  details  which 
are  everything  to  the  practical  artist,  but  noth 
ing  to  the  general  reader.  We  must  premise, 
that  certain  substances  undergo  chemical  alter 
ations,  when  exposed  to  the  light,  which  produce 
a  change  of  color.  Some  of  the  compounds  of 
silver  possess  this  faculty  to  a  remarkable  de 
gree,  —  as  the  common  indelible  marking-ink 
(a,  solution  of  nitrate  of  silver),  which  soon 


AND   THE   STEREOGRAPH.  131 

darkens  in  the  light,  shows  us  every  day.  This 
is  only  one  of  the  innumerable  illustrations  of 
the  varied  effects  of  light  on  color.  A  living 
plant  owes  its  brilliant  hues  to  the  sunshine  ; 
but  a  dead  one,  or  the  tints  extracted  from  it, 
will  fade  in  the  same  rays  which  clothe  the  tulip 
in  crimson  and  gold,  —  as  our  lady-readers  who 
have  rich  curtains  in  their  drawing-rooms  know 
full  well.  The  sun,  then,  is  a  master  of  chiaros 
curo,  and,  if  he  has  a  living  petal  for  his  pallet, 
is  the  first  of  colorists.  Let  us  walk  into  his 
studio,  and  examine  some  of  his  painting  ma 
chinery. 

1.  THE  DAGUERROTYPE.  —  A  silver-plated 
sheet  of  copper  is  resilvered  by  electro-plating, 
and  perfectly  polished.  It  is  then  exposed  in  a 
glass  box  to  the  vapor  of  iodine  until  its  surface 
turns  to  a  golden  yellow.  Then  it  is  exposed 
in  another  box  to  the  fumes  of  the  bromide  of 
lime  until  it  becomes  of  a  blood-red  tint.  Then 
it  is  exposed  once  more,  for  a  few  seconds,  to 
the  vapor  of  iodine.  The  plate  is  now  sensitive 
to  light,  and  is  of  course  kept  from  it,  until, 


132  THE   STEREOSCOPE 

having  been  placed  in  the  darkened  camera, 
the  screen  is  withdrawn  and  the  camera-picture 
falls  upon  it.  In  strong  light,  and  with  the  best 
instruments,  three  seconds'  exposure  is  enough, 
—  but  the  time  varies  with  circumstances.  The 
plate  is  now  withdrawn  and  exposed  to  the  va 
por  of  mercury  at  212°.  Where  the  daylight 
was  strongest,  the  sensitive  coating  of  the  plate 
has  undergone  such  a  chemical  change,  that  the 
mercury  penetrates  readily  to  the  silver,  pro 
ducing  a  minute  white  granular  deposit  upon  it, 
like  a  very  thin  fall  of  snow,  drifted  by  the 
wind.  The  strong  lights  are  little  heaps  of 
these  granules,  the  middle  lights  thinner  sheets 
of  them  ;  the  shades  are  formed  by  the  dark 
silver  itself,  thinly  sprinkled  only,  as  the  earth 
shows,  with  a  few  scattered  snow-flakes  on  its 
surface.  The  precise  chemical  nature  of  these 
granules  we  care  less  for  than  their  palpable 
presence,  which  may  be  perfectly  made  out  by 
a  microscope  magnifying  fifty  diameters,  or  even 
less. 

The   picture   thus   formed  would    soon   fade 
under   the  action   of  light,    in    consequence  of 


AND   THE  STEREOGRAPH.  133 

further  changes  in  the  chemical  elements  of  the 
film  of  which  it  consists.  Some  of  these  ele 
ments  are  therefore  removed  by  washing  it  with 
a  solution  of  hyposulphite  of  soda,  after  which  it 
is  rinsed  with  pure  water.  It  is  now  permanent 
in  the  light,  but  a  touch  wipes  off  the  picture 
as  it  does  the  bloom  from  a  plum.  To  fix  it,  a 
solution  of  hyposulphite  of  soda  containing  chlo 
ride  of  gold  is*  poured  on  the  plate,  while  this 
is  held  over  a  spirit-lamp.  It  is  then  again 
rinsed  with  pure  water,  and  is  ready  for  its 
frame. 

2.  THE  PHOTOGRAPH.  - —  Just  as  we  must 
have  a  mould  before  we  can  make  a  cast,  we 
must  get  a  negative  or  reversed  picture  on  glass 
before  we  can  get  our  positive  or  natural  pic 
ture.  The  first  thing,  then,  is  to  lay  a  sensitive 
coating  on  a  piece  of  glass,  —  crown-glass, 
which  has  a  natural  surface,  being  preferable 
to  plate-glass.  Collodion,  which  is  a  solution 
of  gun-cotton  in  alcohol  and  ether,  mingled 
with  a  solution  of  iodide  and  bromide  of  potas 
sium,  is  used  to  form  a  thin  coating  over  the 


134  THE  STEREOSCOPE 

glass.  Before  the  plate  is  dry,  it  is  dipped  into 
a  solution  of  nitrate  of  silver,  where  it  remains 
from  one  to  three  or  four  minutes.  Here,  then, 
we  have  essentially  the  same  chemical  elements 
that  we  have*  seen  employed  in  the  daguer- 
rotype,  —  namely,  iodine,  bromine,  and  silver ; 
and  by  their  mutual  reactions  in  the  last  process 
we  have  formed  the  sensitive  iodide  and  bro 
mide  of  silver.  The  glass  is  now  placed,  still  wet, 
in  the  camera,  and  there  remains  from  three 
seconds  to  one  or  two  minutes,  according  to  cir 
cumstances.  It  is  then  washed  with  a  solution 
of  sulphate  of  iron.  Every  light  spot  in  the 
camera-picture  becomes  dark  on  the  sensitive 
coating  of  the  glass-plate.  But  where  the  shad 
ows  or  dark  parts  of  the  camera-picture  fall, 
the  sensitive  coating  is  less  darkened,  or  not  at 
all,  if  the  shadows  are  very  deep,  and  so  these 
shadows  of  the  camera-picture  become  the  lights 
of  the  glass-picture,  as  the  lights  become  the 
shadows.  Again,  the  picture  is  reversed,  just 
as  in  every  camera-obscura  where  the  image  is 
received  on  a  screen  direct  from  the  lens.  Thus 
the  glass  plate  has  the  right  part  of  the  object 


I 
AND   THE  STEREOGRAPH.  135 

on  the  left  side  of  its  picture,  and  the  left  part 
on  its  right  side  ;  its  light  is  darkness,  and  its 
darkness  is  light.  Everything  is  just  as  wrong 
as  it  can  be,  except  that  the  relations  of  each 
wrong  to  the  other  wrongs  are  like  the  relations 
of  the  corresponding  rights  to  each  other  in 
the  original  natural  image.  This  is  a  negative 
picture. 

Extremes  meet.  Every  given  point  of  the 
picture  is  as  far  from  truth  as  a  lie  can  be.  But 
in  travelling  away  from  the  pattern  it  has  gone 
round  a  complete  circle,  and  is  at  once  as  re 
mote  from  Nature  and  as  near  it  as  possible.  — 
"  How  far  is  it  to  Taunton  ?  "  said  a  country 
man,  who  was  walking  exactly  the  wrong  way  to 
reach  that  commercial  and  piscatory  centre.  — 
"  'Biiout  twenty-five  thaousan'  mild,"  —  said  the 
boy  he  asked,  —  "'fy'  go  'z  y'  V  goin'  naow, 
'n'  'baout  haaf  a  mild  'f  y'  turn  right  raoun'  'nj 
go  t'  other  way." 

The  negative  picture  being  formed,  it  is 
washed  with  a  solution  of  hyposulphite  of  soda, 
to  remove  the  soluble  principles  which  are  liable 
to  decomposition,  and  then  coated  with  shellac 
varnish  to  protect  it. 


i 

136  THE  STEREOSCOPE 

This  negative  is  now  to  give  birth  to  a  posi 
live,  —  this  mass  of  contradictions  to .  assert  it* 
hidden  truth  in  a  perfect  harmonious  affirmation 
of  the  realities  of  Nature.  Behold  the  process  ! 

A  sheet  of  the  best  linen  paper  is  dipped  in 
salt  water  and  suffered  to  dry.  Then  a  solution 
of  nitrate  of  silver  is  poured  over  it  and  it  is 
dried  in  a  dark  place.  This  paper  is  now  sensi 
tive  ;  it  has  a  conscience,  and  is  afraid  of  day 
light.  Press  it  against  the  glass  negative  and 
lay  them  in  the  sun,  the  glass  uppermost,  leav 
ing  them  so  for  from  three  to  ten  minutes.  The 
paper,  having  the  picture  formed  on  it,  is  then 
washed  with  the  solution  of  hyposulphite  of  soda, 
rinsed  in  pure  water,  soaked  again  in  a  solution 
of  hyposulphite  of  soda,  to  which,  however, 
the  chloride  of  gold  has  been  added,  and  again 
rinsed.  It  is  then  sized  or  varnished. 

Out  of  the  perverse  and  totally  depraved  neg 
ative,  —  where  it  might  almost  seem  as  if  some 
magic  and  diabolic  power  had  wrenched  all  things 
from  their  proprieties,  where  the  light  of  the  eye 
was  darkness,  and  the  deepest  blackness  was 
gilded  with  the  brightest  glare,  —  is  to  come 


AND   THE   STEREOGRAPH.  137 

the  true  end' of  all  this  series  of  operations,  a 
copy  of  Nature  in  all  her  sweet  gradations  and 
harmonies  and  contrasts. 

We  owe  the  suggestion  to  a  great  wit,  who 
overflowed  our  small  intellectual  home-lot  with 
a  rushing  freshet  of  fertilizing  talk  the  other 
day,  —  one  of  our  friends,  who  quarries  thought 
on  his  own  premises,  but  does  not  care  to  build 
his  blocks  into  books  and  essays,  —  that  perhaps 
this  world  is  only  the  negative  of  that  better  one 
in  which  lights  will  be  turned  to  shadows  and 
shadows  into  light,  but  all  harmonized,  so  that 
we  shall  see  why  these  ugly  patches,  these  mis 
placed  gleams  and  blots,  were  wrought  into  the 
temporary  arrangements  of  our  planetary  life. 

For,  lo !  when  the  sensitive  paper  is  laid  in 
the  sun  under  the  negative  glass,  every  dark 
spot  on  the  glass  arrests  a  sunbeam,  and  so  the 
spot  of  the  paper  lying  beneath  remains  un 
changed  ;  but  every  light  space  of  the  negative 
lets  the  sunlight  through,  and  the  sensitive 
paper  beneath  confesses  its.  weakness,  and  be 
trays  it  by  growing  dark  just  in  proportion  to 
the  glare  that  strikes  upon  it.  So,  too,  we  have 


138  THE  STEREOSCOPE 

only  to  turn  the  glass  before  laying  it  on  the 
paper,  and  we  bring  all  the  natural  relations 
of  the  object  delineated  back  again,  —  its  right 
to  the  right  of  the  picture,  its"  left  to  the  picture's 
left. 

On  examining  the  glass  negative  by  trans 
mitted  light  with  a  power  of  a  hundred  diam 
eters,  we  observe  minute  granules,  whether 
crystalline  or  not  we  cannot  say,  very  similar 
to  those  described  in  the  account  of  the  da- 
guerrotype.  But  now  their  effect  is  reversed. 
Being  opaque,  they  darken  the  glass  wherever 
they  are  accumulated,  just  as  the  snow  darkens 
our  skylights.  Where  these  particles  are  drift 
ed,  therefore,  we  have  our  shadows,  and  where 
they  are  thinly  scattered,  our  lights.  On  ex 
amining  the  paper  photographs,  we  have  found 
no  distinct  granules,  but  diffused  stains  of  deeper 
or  lighter  shades. 

Such  is  the  sun-picture,  in  the  form  in  which 
we  now  most  commonly  meet  it,  —  for  the  da- 
guerrotype,  perfect  and  cheap  as  it  is,  and 
admirably  adapted  for  miniatures,  has  almost 
disappeared  from  the  field  of  landscape,  still  life, 


AND   THE  STEREOGRAPH.  139 

architecture,  and  genre  painting,  to  make  room 
for  the*  photograph.  Mr.  Whipple  tells  us  that 
even  now  he  takes  a  much  greater  number  of 
miniature  portraits  on  metal  than  on  paper  ;  and 
yet,  except  occasionally  a  statue,  it  is  rare  to  see 
anything  besides  a  portrait  shown  in  a  daguerro- 
type.  But  the  greatest  number  of  sun-pictures 
we  see  are  the  photographs  which  are  intended 
to  be  looked  at  with  the  aid  of  the  instrument 
we  are  next  to  describe,  and  to  the  stimulus  of 
which  the  recent  vast  extension  of  photographic 
copies  of  Nature  and  Art  is  mainly  owing. 

3.  THE  STEREOSCOPE.  —  This  instrument  was 
invented  by  Professor  Wheatstone,  and  first  de 
scribed  by  him  in  1838.  It  was  only  a  year 
after  this  that  M.  Daguerre  made  known  his  dis 
covery  in  Paris  ;  and  almost  at  the  same  time 
Mr.  Fox  Talbot  sent  his  communication  to  the 
Royal  Society,  giving  an  account  of  his  method 
of  obtaining  pictures  on  paper  by  the  action  of 
light.  Iodine  was  discovered  in  1811,  bromine 
in  1826,  chloroform  in  1831,  gun-cotton,  from 
which  collodion  is  made,  in  184G,  the  electro- 


140  THE  STEREOSCOPE 

plating  process  about  the  same  time  with  pho 
tography  ;  "all  things,  great  and  small,  work 
ing  together  to  produce  what  seemed  at  first  as 
delightful,  but  as  fabulous,  as  Aladdin's  ring, 
which  is  now  as  little  suggestive  of  surprise  as 
our  daily  brea.d." 

A  stereoscope  is  an  instrument  which  makes 
surfaces  look  solid.  All  pictures  in  which  per 
spective  and  light  and  shade  are  properly  man 
aged,  have  more  or  less  of  the  effect  of  solidity ; 
but  by  this  instrument  *that  effect  is  so  height 
ened  as  to  produce  an  appearance  of  reality 
which  cheats  the  senses  with  its  seeming  truth. 

There  is  good  reason  to  believe  that  the  ap 
preciation  of  solidity  by  the  eye  is  purely  a  mat 
ter  of  education.  The  famous  case  of  a  young 
man  who  underwent  the  operation  of  couching 
for  cataract,  related  by  Cheselden,  and  a  similar 
one  reported  in  the  Appendix  to  Muller's  Phys 
iology,  go  to  prove  that  everything  is  seen  only 
as  a  superficial  extension,  until  the  other  senses 
have  taught  the  eye  to  recognize  depth,  or  the 
third  dimension,  which  gives  solidity,  by  con 
verging  outlines,  distribution  of  light  and  shade, 


AND   THE  STEREOGRAPH.  141 

change  of  size  and  of  the  texture  of  surfaces. 
Cheselden's  patient  thought  "  all  objects  what 
ever  touched  his  eyes,  as  what  he  felt  did  his 
skin."  The  patient  whose  case  is  reported  by 
Miillcr  could  not  tell  the  form  of  a  cube  held 
obliquely  before  his  eye  from  that  of  a  flat  piece 
of  pasteboard  presenting  the  same  outline.  Each 
of  these  patients  saw  only  with  one  eye,  —  the 
other  being  destroyed,  in  one  case,  and  not 
restored  to  *  sight  until  long  after  the  first,  in 
the  other  case.  In  two  months'  time  Chesel 
den's  patient  had  learned  to  know  solids  ;  in 
fact,  he  argued  so  logically  from  light  and  shade 
and  perspective,  that  he  felt  of  pictures,  expect 
ing  to  find  reliefs  and  depressions,  and  was  sur 
prised  to  discover  that  they  were  flat  surfaces. 
If  these  patients  had  suddenly  recovered  the 
sight  of  both  eyes,  they  would  probably  have 
learned  to  recognize  solids  more  easily  and 
speedily. 

We  can  commonly  tell  whether  an  object  is 
solid,  readily  enough  with  one  eye,  but  still 
better  with  two  eyes,  and  sometimes  only  by 
using  both.  If  wo  look  at  a  square  piece  of 


142  THE   STEREOSCOPE 

ivory  with  one  eye  alone,  we  cannot  tell  wheth 
er  it  is  a  scale  of  veneer,  or  the  side  of  a  cube, 
or  the  base  of  a  pyramid,  or  the  end  of  a  prism. 
But  if  we  now  open  the  other  eye,  we  shall  see 
one  or  more  of  its  sides,  if  it  have  any,  and  then 
know  it  to  be  a  solid,  and  what  kind  of  a  solid. 

We  see  something  with  the  second  eye,  which 
we  did  not  see  with  the  first ;  in  other  words, 
the  two  eyes  see  different  pictures  of  the  same 
thing,  for  the  obvious  reason  that  they  look  from 
points  two  or  three  inches  apart.  By  means  of 
these  two  different  views  of  an  object,  the  mind, 
as  it  were,  feels  round  it  and  gets  an  idea  of  its 
solidity.  We  clasp  an  object  with  our  eyes,  as 
with  our  arms,  or  with  our  hands,  or  with  our 
thumb  and  finger,  and  then  we  know  it-  to  be 
something  more  than  a  surface.  This,  of  course, 
is  an  illustration  of  the  fact,  rather  than  an  ex 
planation  of  its  mechanism. 

Though,  as  we  have  seen,  the  two  eyes 
look  on  two  different  pictures,  we  perceive 
but  one  picture.  The  two  have  run  together 
and  become  blended  in  a  third,  which  shows 
us  everything  we  see  in  each.  But,  in  order 


AND   THE  STEREOGRAPH.  143 

that    they   should    so    run    together,   both    the 
eye  and  the  brain  must  be  in  a  natural  state. 
Push  one   eye    a   little   inward   with  the    fore 
finger,   and    the  image  is   doubled,   or  at  least 
confused.     Only  Certain  parts  of  the   two  ret 
inae  work  harmoniously  together,  and  you  have 
disturbed   their  natural  relations.     Again,  take 
two   or    three    glasses    more    than    temperance 
permits,    and    you    see    double ;    the    eyes    are 
right    enough,   probably,    but   tl*e   brain   is   in 
trouble,  and  does   not  report  their  telegraphic 
messages    correctly.      These    exceptions    illus 
trate  the  every-day  truth,   that,  when  we  are 
in  right  condition,  our  two  eyes  see  two  some 
what  different   pictures,  which    our   perception 
combines    to    form    one    picture,    representing 
objects  in  all  their  dimensions,  and  not  merely 
as  surfaces. 

Now,  if  we  can  get  two  artificial  pictures 
of  any  given  object,  one  as  we  should  see  it 
with  the  right  eye,  the  other  as  we  should 
see  it  with  the  left  eye,  and  then,  looking 
at  the  right  picture,  and  that  only,  with  the 
right  eye,  and  at  the  left  picture,  and  that 


144  THE  STEREOSCOPE 

only,  with  the  left  eye,  contrive  some  way 
of  making  these  pictures  run  together  as  we 
have  seen  our  two  views  of  a  natural  object 
do,  we  shall  get  the  sense  of  solidity  that  nat 
ural  objects  give  us.  The  arrangement  which 
effects  it  will  be  a  stereoscope,  according  to 
our  definition  of  that  instrument.  How  shall 
we  attain  these  two  ends  ? 

1.  An  artist  can  draw  an  object  as  he  sees 
it,  looking  at-,  it  only  with  his  right  eye. 
Then  he  can  draw  a  second  view  of  the 
same  object  as  he  sees  it  with  his  left  eye. 
It  will  not  be  hard  to  draw  a  cube  or  an 
octahedron  in  this  way;  indeed,  the  first  ste 
reoscopic  figures  were  pairs  of  outlines,  right 
and  left,  of  solid  bodies  thus  drawn.  But  the 
minute  details  of  a  portrait,  a  group,  or  a 
landscape,  all  so  nearly  alike  to  the  two  eyes, 
yet  not  identical  in  each  picture  of  our  natu 
ral  double  view,  would  defy  any  human  skill 
to  reproduce  them  exactly.  And  just  here 
comes  in  the  photograph  to  meet  the  diffi 
culty.  A  first  picture  of  an  object  is  taken  ; 
then  the  instrument  is  moved  a  couple  of 


AND   THE  STEREOGRAPH.  Ho 

inches  or  a  little  more,  the  distance  between 
the  human  eyes,  and  a  second  picture  is  taken. 
Better  than  this,  two  pictures  are  taken  at 
once  in  a  double  camera. 

We  were  just  now  stereographed,  ourselves, 
at  a  moment's  warning,  as  if  we  were  fugi 
tives  from  justice.  A  skeleton  shape,  of  about 
a  man's  height,  its  head  covered  with  a  black 
veil,  glided  across  the  floor,  faced  us,  lifted  its 
veil,  and  took  a  preliminary  look.  When  we 
had  grown  sufficiently  rigid  in  our  attitude 
of  studied  ease,  and  got  our  umbrella  into  a 
position  of  thoughtful  carelessness,  and  put 
our  features  with  much  effort  into  an  uncon 
strained  aspect  of  cheerfulness  tempered  with 
dignity,  of  manly  firmness  blended  with  wo 
manly  sensibility,  of  courtesy,  as  much  as  to 
imply,  "  You  honor  me,  Sir,"  toned  or  sized, 
as  one  may  say,  with  something  of  the  self-asser 
tion  of  a  human  soul  which  reflects  proudly, 
"  I  am  superior  to  all  this,"  -  -  when,  I  say, 
we  were  all  right,  the  spectral  Mokanna 
dropped  his  long  veil,  and  his  waiting-slave 
put  a  sensitive  tablet  under  its  folds.  The 
7  j 


146  THE   STEREOSCOPE 

veil  was  then  again  lifted,  and  the  two  great 
glassy  eyes  stared  at  us  once  more  for  some 
thirty  seconds.  The  veil  then  dropped  again ; 
but  in  the  mean  time  the  shrouded  sorcerer 
had  stolen  our  double  image  ;  we  *  were  im 
mortal.  Posterity  might  thenceforth  inspect 
us  (if  not  otherwise  engaged),  not  as  a  sur 
face  only,  but  in  all  our  dimensions  as  an 
undisputed  solid  man  of  Boston. 

2.  We  have  now  obtained  the  double-eyed 
or  twin  pictures,  or  STEREOGRAPH,  if  we  may 
coin  a  name.  But  the  pictures  are  two,  and 
we  want  to  slide  them  into  each  other,  so  to 
speak,  as  in  natural  vision,  that  we  may  see 
them  as  one.  How  shall  we  make  one  pic 
ture  out  of  two,  the  corresponding  parts  of 
which  are  separated  by  a  distance  of  two  or 
three  inches  ? 

We  can  do  this  in  two  ways.  First,  by 
squinting  as  we  look  at  them.  But  this  is 
tedious,  painful,  and  to  some  impossible,  or  at 
least  very  difficult.  We  shall  find  it  much 
easier  to  look  through  a  couple  of  glasses  that 
squint  for  us.  If  at  the  same  time  they  mag- 


AND   THE  STEREOGRAPH.  147 

nify  the  two  pictures,   we  gain  just  so  much 
in    the   distinctness   of   the    picture,    which,    if 
the   figures   on   the  slide   are   small,  is   a  great 
advantage.      One   of   the    easiest   ways   of  ac 
complishing   this    double    purpose   is    to    cut   a 
convex    lens    through    the    middle,   grind    the 
curves    of   the    two    halves    down    to    straight 
lines,    and    join    them    by    their    thin    ed^es. 
This  is  a  squinting  magnifier;  and  if  arranged 
so   that  with    its  right   half  we  see    the  right 
picture    on    the   slide,    and    with    its    left    half 
the  left  picture,  it   squints  them   both   inward, 
so  that  they  run   together  and   form  a  single 
picture. 

Such  are  the  stereoscope  and  the  photo 
graph,  by  the  aid  of  which  form  is  henceforth 
to  make  itself  seen  through  the  world  of  intel 
ligence,  as  thought  has  long  made  itself  heard 
by  means  of  the  art  of  printing.  The  mor- 
photype,  or  form-print,  must  hereafter  take  its 
place  by  the  side  of  the  logotype,  or  word- 
print.  The  stereograph,  as  we  have  called  the 
double  picture  designed  for  the  stereoscope,  is 


148  THE   STEREOSCOPE 

to  be  the  card  of  introduction  to  make  all 
mankind  acquaintances. 

The  first  effect  of  looking  at  a  good  photo 
graph  through  the  stereoscope  is  a  surprise 
such  as  no  painting  ever  produced.  The  mind 
feels  its  way  into  the  very  depths  of  the  pic 
ture.  The  scraggy  branches  of  a  tree  in  the 
foreground  run  out  at  us  as  if  they  would 
scratch  our  eyes  out.  The  elbow  of  a  figure 
stands  forth  so  as  to  make  us  almost  un 
comfortable.  Then  there  is  such  a  frightful 
amount  of  detail,  that  we  have  the  same  sense 
of  infinite  complexity  which  Nature  gives  us. 
A  painter  shows  us  masses  ;  the  stereoscopic 
figure  spares  us  nothing,  —  all  must  be  there, 
every  stick,  straw,  scratch,  as  faithfully  as 
the  dome  of  St.  Peter's,  or  the  summit  of 
Mont  Blanc,  or  the  ever-moving  stillness  of 
Niagara.  The  sun  is  no  respecter  of  persons 
or  of  things. 

This  is  one  infinite  charm  of  the  photo 
graphic  delineation.  Theoretically,  a  perfect 
photograph  is  absolutely  inexhaustible.  In  a 
picture  you  can  find  nothing  which  the  artist 


AND   THE  STEREOGRAPH.  149 

has  not  seen  before  you ;  but  in  a  perfect 
photograph  there  will  be  as  many  beauties 
lurking,  unobserved,  as  there  are  flowers  that 
blush  unseen  in  forests  and  meadows.  It  is 
a  mistake  to  suppose  one  knows  a  stereoscopic 
picture  when  he  has  studied  it  a  hundred 
times  by  the  aid  of  the  best  of  our  common 
instruments.  Do  we  know  all  that  there  is 
in  a  landscape  by  looking  out  at  it  from  our 
parlor  windows  ?  In  one  of  the  glass  stereo 
scopic  views  of  Table  Rock,  two  figures,  so 
minute  as  to  be  mere  objects  of  comparison 
with  the  surrounding  vastness,  may  be  seen 
standing  side  by  side.  Look  at  the  two  faces 
with  a  strong  magnifier,  and  you  could  iden 
tify  their  owners,  if  you  met  them  in  a  court 
of  law. 

Many  persons  suppose  that  they  are  looking 
on  miniatures  of  the  objects  represented,  when 
they  see  them  in  the  stereoscope.  They  will 
be  surprised  to  be  told  that  they  see  most 
objects  as  large  as  they  appear  in  nature.  A 
few  simple  experiments  will  show  how  what 
we  see  in  ordinary  vision  is  modified  in  our 


150  THE  STEREOSCOPE 

perceptions  by  what  we  think  we  see.  We 
made  a  sham  stereoscope,  the  other  day,  with 
no  glasses,  and  an  opening  in  the  place  wrhere 
the  pictures  belong,  about  the  size  of  one  of 
the  common  stereoscopic  pictures.  Through 
this  we  got  a  very  ample  view  of  the  town  of 
Cambridge,  including  Mount  Auburn  and  the 
Colleges,  in  a  single  field  of  vision.  We  do 
not  recognize  how  minute  distant  objects  really 
look  to  us,  without  something  to  bring  the 
fact  home  to  our  conceptions.  A  man  does 
not  deceive  us  as  to  his  real  size  when  we 
see  him  at  the  distance  of  the  length  of  Cam 
bridge  Bridge.  But  hold  a  common  black 
pin  before  the  eyes  at  the  distance  of  distinct 
vision,  and  one  twentieth  of  its  length,  near 
est  the  point,  is  enough  to  cover  him  so  that 
he  cannot  be  seen.  The  head  of  the  same 
pin  will  cover  one  of  the  Cambridge  horse- 
cars  at  the  same  distance,  and  conceal  the 
tower  of  Mount  Auburn,  as  seen  from  Boston. 
We  are  near  enough  to  an  edifice  to  see  it 

o 

well,  when  we  can  easily  read  an  inscription 
upon  it.     The  stereoscopic  views  of  the  arches 


AND   THE  STEREOGRAPH.  ]51 

of  Constantino  and  of  Titus  give  not  only  every 
letter  of  the  old  inscriptions,  but  render  the 
grain  of  the  stone  itself.  On  the  pediment  of 
the  Pantheon  may  be  read,  not  only  the  words 
traced  by  Agrippa,  but  a  rough  inscription 
above  it,  scratched  or  hacked  into  the  stone 
by  some  wanton  hand  during  an  insurrectionary 
tumult. 

This  distinctness  of  the  lesser  details  of  a 
building  or  a  landscape  often  gives  us  incidental 
truths  which  interest  us  more  than  the  central 
object  of  the  picture.  Here  is  Alloway  Kirk, 
in  the  churchyard  of  which  you  may  read  a 
real  story  by  the  side  of  the  ruin  that  tells  of 
more  romantic  fiction.  There  stands  the  stone 
"  Erected  by  James  Russell,  seedsman,  Ayr,  in 
memory  of  his  children,"  —  three  little  boys, 
James  and  Thomas  and  John,  all  snatched 
away  from  him  in  the  space  of  three  succes 
sive  summer-days,  and  lying  under  the  matted 
grass  in  the  shadow  of  the  old  witch-haunted 
walls.  It  was  Burns's  Alloway  Kirk  we  paid 
for,  and  we  find  we  have  bought  a  share  in  the 
griefs  of  James  Russell,  seedsman ;  for  is  not 


152  THE  STEREOSCOPE 

the  stone  that  tells  this  blinding  sorrow  of  real 
life  the  true  centre  of  the  picture,  and  not  the 
roofless  pile  which  reminds  us  of  an  idle  le 
gend? 

We  have  often  found  these  incidental  glimpses 
of  life  and  death  running  away  with  us  from  the 
main  object  the  picture  was  meant  to  delineate. 
The  more  evidently  accidental  their  introduc 
tion,  the  more  trivial  they  are  in  themselves, 
the  more  they  take  hold  of  the  imagination. 
It  is  common  to  find  an  object  in  one  of  the 
twin  pictures  which  we  miss  in  the  other ;  the 
person  or  the  vehicle  having  moved  in  the 
interval  of  taking  the  two  photographs.  There 
is  before  us  a  view  of  the  Pool  of  David  at 
Hebron,  in  which  a  shadowy  figure  appears  at 
the  water's  edge,  in  the  right-hand  farther  cor 
ner  of  the  right-hand  picture  only.  This  muf 
fled  shape  stealing  silently  into  the  solemn  scene 
has  already  written  a  hundred  biographies  in 
our  imagination.  In  the  lovely  glass  stereo 
graph  of  the  Lake  of  Brienz,  on  the  left-hand 
side,  a  vaguely  hinted  female  figure  stands  by 
the  margin  of  the  fair  water  5  on  the  other  side 


AND   THE  STEREOGRAPH.  153 

of  the  picture  she  is  not  seen.  This  is  life  ;  we 
seem  to  see  her  come  and  go.  All  the  longings, 
passions,  experiences,  possibilities  of  womanhood 
animate  that  gliding  shadow  which  has  flitted 
through  our  consciousness,  nameless,  dateless, 
featureless,  yet  more  profoundly  real  than  the 
sharpest  of  portraits  traced  by  a  human  hand. 
Here  is  the  Fountain  of  the  Ogre,  at  Berne. 
In  the  right  picture  two  women  are  chatting, 
with  arms  akimbo,  over  its  basin;  before  the 
plate  for  the  left  picture  is  got  ready,  "  one 
shall  be  taken  and  the  other  left";  look!  on 
the  left  side  there  is  but  one  woman,  and  you 
may  see  the  blur  where  the  other  is  meltino- 

o 

into  thin  air  as  she  fades  forever  from  your 
eyes. 

O,  infinite  volumes  of  poems  that  I  treasure 
in  this  small  library  of  glass  and  pasteboard! 
I  creep  over  the  vast  features  of  Rameses,  on 
the  face  of  his  rock-hewn  Nubian  temple;  I 
scale  the  huge  mountain-crystal  that  calls  itself 
the  Pyramid  of  Cheops.  I  pace  the  length  of 
the  three  Titanic  stones  of  the  wall  of  Baalbec, 
—  mightiest  masses  of  quarried  rock  that  man 


7* 


154:  THE  STEREOSCOPE 

has  lifted  into  the  air;  and  then  I  dive  into 
some  mass  of  foliage  with  my  microscope,  and 
trace  the  veinings  of  a  leaf  so  delicately  wrought 
in  the  painting  not  made  with  hands,  that  I  can 
almost  see  its  down  and  the  green  aphis  that 
sucks  its  juices.  I  look  into  the  eyes  of  the 
caged  tiger,  and  on  the  scaly  train  of  the  croco 
dile,  stretched  on  the  sands  of  the  river  that 
has  mirrored  a  hundred  dynasties.  I  stroll 
through  Rhenish  vineyards,  I  sit  under  Roman 
arches,  I  walk  the  streets  of  once  buried  cities, 
I  look  into  the  chasms  of  Alpine  glaciers,  and 
on  the  rush  of  wasteful  cataracts.  I  pass,  in  a 
moment,  from  the  banks  of  the  Charles  to  the 
ford  of  the  Jordan,  and  leave  my  outward  frame 
in  the  arm-chair  at  my  table,  while  in  spirit  I 
am  looking  down  upon  Jerusalem  from  the 
Mount  of  Olives. 

"  Give  me  the  full  tide  of  life  at  Charing 
Cross,"  said  Dr.  Johnson.  Here  is  Charing 
Cross,  but  without  the  full  tide  of  life.  A  per 
petual  stream  of  figures  leaves  no  definite  shapes 
upon  the  picture.  But  on  one  side  of  this  ster 
eoscopic  doublet  a  little  London  "  gent "  is  lean- 


AND   THE  STEREOGRAPH.  155 

ing  pensively  against  a  post;  on  the  other 
side  he  is  seen  sitting  at  the  foot  of  the 
next  post;  —  what  is  the  matter  with  the  lit 
tle  "gent"? 

The  very  things  which  an  artist  would  leave 
out,  or  render  imperfectly,  the  photograph  takes 
infinite  care  with,  and  so  makes  its  illusions 
perfect.  What  is  the  picture  of  a  drum  without 
the  marks  on  its  head  where  the  beating  of  the 
sticks  has  darkened  the  parchment?  In  three 
pictures  of  the  Ann  Hathaway  Cottage,  before 
US)  —  the  most  perfect,  perhaps,  of  all  the  paper 
stereographs  we  have  seen,  —  the  door  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  cottage  is  open,  and  we  see 
the  marks  left  by  the  rubbing  of  hands  and 
shoulders  as  the  good  people  came  through  the 
entry,  or  leaned  against  it,  or  felt  for  the  latch. 
It  is  not  impossible  that  scales  from  the  epider 
mis  of  the  trembling  hand  of  Ann  Hathaway's 
young  suitor,  Will  Shakespeare,  are  still  adhe 
rent  about  the  old  latch  and  door,  and  that 
they  contribute  to  the  stains  we  see  in  our 
picture. 

Among  the  accidents  of  life,  as  delineated  in 


156  THE  STEREOSCOPE 

the  stereograph,  there  is  one  that  rarely  fails  in 
any  extended  view  which  shows  us  the  details 
of  streets  and  buildings.  There  may  be  neither 
man  nor  beast  nor  vehicle  to  be  seen.  .You 
may  be  looking  down  on  a  place  in  such  a  way 
that  none  of  the  ordinary  marks  of  its  being 
actually  inhabited  show  themselves.  But  in 
the  rawest  Western  settlement  and  the  oldest 
Eastern  city,  in  the  midst  of  the  shanties  at 
Pike's  Peak  and  stretching  across  the  court 
yards  as  you  look  into  them  from  above  the 
clay-plastered  roofs  of  Damascus,  wherever  man 
lives  with  any  of  the  decencies  of  civilization, 
you  will  find  the  clothes-line.  It  may  be  a 
fence,  (in  Ireland,)  —  it  may  be  a  tree,  (if  the 
Irish  license  is  still  allowed  us,)  —  but  clothes- 
drying,  or  a  place  to  dry  clothes  on,  the  stereo 
scopic  photograph  insists  on  finding,  wherever 
it  gives  us  a  group  of  houses.  This  is  the  city 
of  Berne.  How  it  brings  the  people  who  sleep 
under  that  roof  before  us  to  see  their  sheets 
drying  on  that  fence ;  and  how  real  it  makes 
the  men  in  that  house  to  look  at  their  shirts 
hanging,  arms  down,  from  yonder  line! 


AND   THE  STEREOGRAPH.  157 

The  reader  will,  perhaps,  thank  us  for  a  few 
hints  as  to  the  choice  of  stereoscopes  and  stereo 
scopic  pictures.  The  only  way  to  be  sure  of 
getting  a  good  instrument  is  to  try  a  number 
of  them,  but  it  may  be  well  to  know  which  are 
worth  trying.  Those  made  with  achromatic 
glasses  may  be  as  much  better  as  they  are 
dearer,  but  we  have  not  been  able  to  satisfy 
ourselves  of  the  fact.  We  do  not  commonly 
find  any  trouble  from  chromatic  aberration  (or 
false  color  in  the  image).  It  is  an  excellent 
thing  to  have  the  glasses  adjust  by  pulling 
out  and  pushing  in,  either  by  the  hand,  or, 
more  conveniently,  by  a  screw.  The  large 
instruments,  holding  twenty-five  slides,  are  best 
adapted  to  the  use  of  those  who  wish  to  show 
their  views  often  to  friends  ;  the  owner  is  a 
little  apt  to  get  tired  of  the  unvarying  round 
in  which  they  present  themselves.  Perhaps  we 
relish  them  more  for  having  a  little  trouble  in 
placing  them,  as  we  do  nuts  that  we  crack 
better  than  those  we  buy  cracked.  In  optical 
effect,  there  is  not  much  difference  between 
them  and  the  best  ordinary  instruments.  We 


158  THE  STEREOSCOPE 

employ  one  stereoscope  with  adjusting  glasses 
for  the  hand,  and  another  common  one  upon 
a  broad  rosewood  stand.  The  stand  may  be 
added  to  any  instrument,  and  is  a  great  con 
venience. 

Some  will  have  none  but  glass  stereoscopic 
pictures  ;  paper  ones  are  not  good  enough  for 
them.  Wisdom  dwells  not  with  such.  It  is 
true  that  there  is  a  brilliancy  in  a  glass  pic 
ture,  with  a  flood  of  light  pouring  through 
it,  which  no  paper  one,  with  the  light  neces 
sarily  falling  on  it,  can  approach.  But  this 
brilliancy  fatigues  the  eye  much  more  than 
the  quiet  reflected  light  of  the  paper  stereo 
graph.  Twenty-five  glass  slides,  well  inspected 
in  a  strong  light,  are  good  for  one  headache, 
if  a  person  is  disposed  to  that  trouble. 

Again,  a  good  paper  photograph  is  infi 
nitely  better  than  a  bad  glass  one.  We  have 
a  glass  stereograph  of  Bethlehem,  which  looks 
as  if  the  ground  were  covered  with  snow,  — 
and  paper  ones  of  Jerusalem,  colored  and  un- 
colored,  much  superior  to  it  both  in  effect  and 
detail.  The  Oriental  pictures,  we  think,  are 


AND   THE  STEREOGRAPH.  159 

apt  to  have  this  white,  patchy  look  ;  possibly 
we  do  not  get  the  best  in  this  country. 

A  good  view  on  glass  or  paper  is,  as  a 
rule,  best  uncolored.  But  some  of  the  Amer 
ican  views  of  Niagara  on  glass  are  greatly 
improved  by  being  colored ;  the  water  being 
rendered  vastly  more  suggestive  of  the  reality 
by  the  deep  green  tinge.  Per  contra,  we  have 
seen  some  American  views  so  carelessly  Col 
ored  that  they  were  all  the  worse  for  having 
been  meddled  with.  The  views  of  the  Hath 
away  Cottage,  before  referred  to,  are  not  only 
admirable  in  themselves,  but  some  of  them 
are  admirably  colored  also.  Few  glass  stere 
ographs  compare  with  them  as  real  represent 
atives  of  Nature. 

In  choosing  stereoscopic  pictures,  beware  of 
investing  largely  in  groups.  The  owner  soon 
gets  tired  to  death  of  them.  Two  or  three 
of  the  most  striking  among  them  are  worth 
having,  but  mostly  they  are  detestable,  —  vul 
gar  repetitions  of  vulgar  models,  shamming 
grace,  gentility,  and  emotion,  by  the  aid  of 
costumes,  attitudes,  expressions,  and  accesso- 


160  THE   STEREOSCOPE 

ries  worthy  of  a  Thespian  society  "of  candle- 
snuffers.  In  buying  brides  under  veils,  and 
such  figures,  look  at  the  lady's  hands.  You 
will  very  probably  find  the  young  countess  is 
a  maid-of-all-work.  The  presence  of  a  human 
figure  adds  greatly  to  the  interest  of  all  archi 
tectural  views,  by  giving  us  a  standard  of  size, 
and  should  often  decide  our  choice  out  of  a 
variety  of  such  pictures.  No  view  pleases  the 
eye  which  has  glaring  patches  in  it,  —  a  per 
fectly  white-looking  river,  for  instance,  —  or 
trees  and  shrubs  in  full  leaf,  but  looking  as 
if  they  were  covered  with  snow,  —  or  glaring 
roads,  or  frosted-looking  stones  and  pebbles. 
As  for  composition  in  landscape,  each  person 
must  consult  his  own  taste.  All  have  agreed 
in  admiring  many  of  the  Irish  views,  as  those 
about  the  Lakes  of  Killarney,  for  instance, 
which  are  beautiful  alike  in  general  effect  and 
in  nicety  of  detail.  The  glass  views  on  the 
Rhine,  and  of  the  Pyrenees  in  Spain,  are  of 
consummate  beauty.  As  a  specimen  of  the 
most  perfect,  in  its  truth  and  union  of  har 
mony  and  contrast,  the  view  of  the  Circus  of 


AND   THE  STEREOGRAPH.  161 

Gavarni,  with  the  female  figure  on  horseback 
in  the  front  ground,  is  not  Surpassed  by  any 
we  remember  to  have  seen. 

V 

What  is  to  come  of  the  stereoscope  and  the 
photograph  we  are  almost  afraid  to  guess, 
lest  we  should  seem  extravagant.  But,  pre 
mising  that  we  are  to  give  a  colored  stereo 
scopic  mental  view  of  their  prospects,  we  will 
venture  on  a  few  glimpses  at  a  conceivable, 
if  not  a  possible  future. 

Form  is  henceforth  divorced  from  matter.  In 
fact,  matter  as  a  visible  object  is  of  no  great 
use  any  longer,  except  as  the  mould  on  which 
form  is  shaped.  Give  us  a  few  negatives  of 
a  thing  worth  seeing,  taken  from  different 
points  of  view,  and  that  is  all  we  want  of 
it.  Pull  it  down  or  burn  it  up,  if  you  please. 
We  must,  perhaps,  sacrifice  some  luxury  in 
the  loss  of  color ;  but  form  and  light  and 
shade  are  the  great  things,  and  even  color 
can  be  added,  and  perhaps  by  and  by  may  be 
got  direct  from  Nature. 

There  is  only  one  Colosseum  or  Pantheon  ; 

K 


162  THE  STEREOSCOPE 

but  how  many  millions  of  potential  negatives 
have  they  shed* —  representatives  of  billions 
of  pictures  —  since  they  were  erected  !  Mat 
ter  in  large  masses  must  always  be  fixed  and 
dear ;  form  is  cheap  and  transportable.  We 
have  got  the  fruit  of  creation  now,  and  need 
not  trouble  ourselves  with  the  core.  Every 
conceivable  object  of  Nature  and  Art  will 
soon  scale  off  its  surface  for  us.  Men  will 
hunt  all  curious,  beautiful,  grand  objects,  as 
they  hunt  the  cattle  in  South  America,  for 
their  skins,  and  leave  the  carcasses  as  of  little 
worth. 

The  consequence  of  this  will  soon  be  such 
an  enormous  collection  of  forms  that  they  will 
have  to  be  classified  and  arranged  in  vast 
libraries,  as  books  are  now.  The  time  will 
come  when  a  man  who  wishes  to  see  any  ob 
ject,  natural  or  artificial,  will  go  to  the  Impe 
rial,  National,  or  City  Stereographic  Library, 
and  call  for  its  skin  or  form,  as  he  would  for 
a  book  at  any  common  library.  We  do  now 
distinctly  propose  the  creation  of  a  compre 
hensive  and  systematic  Stereographic  library, 


AND   THE  STEREOGRAPH.  163 

where  all  men  can  find  the  special  forms  they 
particularly  desire  to  see  as  artists,  or  as  schol 
ars,  or  as  mechanics,  or  in  any  other  capacity. 
Already  a  workman  has  been  travelling  about 
the  country  with  stereographic  views  of  furni 
ture,  showing  his  employer's  patterns  in  this 
way,  and  taking  orders  for  them.  This  is  a 
mere  hint  of  what  is  coming  beTore  long. 

Again,  we  must  have  special  stereographic 
collections,  just  as  we  have  professional  and 
other  special  libraries.  And,  as  a  means  of 
facilitating  the  formation  of  public  and  private 
stereographic  collections,  there  must  be  ar 
ranged  a  comprehensive  system  of  exchanges, 
so  that  there  may  grow  up  something  like 
a  universal  currency  of  these  bank-notes,  or 
promises  to  pay  in  solid  substance,  which  the 
sun  has  engraved  for  the  great  Bank  of  Na 
ture. 

To  render  comparison  of  similar  objects,  or 
of  any  that  we  may  wish  to  see  side  by  side, 
easy,  they  should  be  taken,  so  far  as  possible, 
with  camera-lenses  of  the  same  focal  length,  at 
the  same  distance,  and  viewed  through  stereo- 


164  THE  STEREOSCOPE 

scopic  lenses  of  the  same  pattern.  In  this  way 
the  eye  is  enabled  to  form  the  most  rapid  and 
exact  conclusions.  If  the  u  great  elm "  and 
the  Cowthorpe  oak,  if  the  State-House  and 
St.  Peter's,  were  taken  on  the  same  scale, 
and  looked  at  with  the  same  magnifying  power, 
we  should  compare  them  without  the  possi 
bility  of  being  misled  by  those  partialities  which 
might  tend  to  make  us  overrate  the  indigenous 
vegetable  and  the  dome  of  our  native  Michel 
Angelo. 

The  next  European  war  will  send  us  ster 
eographs  of  battles.  It  is  asserted  that  a 
bursting  shell  can  be  photographed.  The  time 
is  perhaps  at  hand  when  a  flash  of  light,  as 
sudden  and  brief  as  that  of  the  lightning 
which  shows  a  whirling  wheel  standing  stock 
still,  shall  preserve  the  very  instant  of  the 
shock  of  contact  of  the  mighty  armies  that 
are  even  now  gathering.  The  lightning  from 
heaven  does  actually  photograph  natural  ob 
jects  on  the  bodies  of  those  it  has  just  blasted, 
—  so  we  are  told  by  many  witnesses.  The 
lightning  of  clashing  sabres  and  bayonets  may 


AND   THE  STEREOGRAPH.  165 

be  forced  to  stereotype  itself  in  a  stillness  as 
complete  as  that  of  the  tumbling  tide  of  Niag 
ara  as  we  see  it  self-pictured. 

We  should  be  led  on  too  far,  if  we  devel 
oped  our  belief  as  to  the  transformations  to 
be  wrought  by  this  greatest  of  human  tri 
umphs  over  earthly  conditions,  the  divorce  of 
form  and  substance.  Let  our  readers  fill  out 
a  blank  check  on  the  future  as  they  like, - 
we  give  our  indorsement  to  their  imaginations 
beforehand.  We  are  looking  into  stereoscopes 
as  pretty  toys,  and  wondering  over  the  photo 
graph  as  a  charming  novelty ;  but  before  an 
other  generation  has  passed  away,  it  will  be 
recognized  that  a  new  epoch  in  the  history 
of  human  progress  dates  from  the  time  when 
He  who 

"  never  but  in  uncreated  light 
Dwelt  from  eternity  " 

took  a  pencil  of  fire  from  the  "  angel  stand 
ing  in  the  sun,"  and  placed  it  in  the  hands 
of  a  mortal. 


SUN-PAINTING  AND   SUN-SCULPTURE; 

WITH  A  STEREOSCOPIC  TRIP  ACROSS  THE  ATLANTIC. 

THERE  is  one  old  fable  which  Lord  Bacon, 
in  his  "  Wisdom  of  the  Ancients,"  has 
not  interpreted.  This  is  the  flaying  of  Marsyas 
by  Apollo.  Everybody  remembers  the  accepted 
version  of  it,  namely,  —  that  the  young  shepherd 
found  Minerva's  flute,  and  was  rash  enough  to 
enter  into  a  musical  contest  with  the  God  of 
Music.  He  was  vanquished,  of  course,  —  and 
the  story  is,  that  the  victor  fastened  him  to  a 
tree  and  flayed  him  alive. 

But  the  God  of  Song  was  also  the  God  of 
Light,  and  a  moment's  reflection  reveals  the 
true  significance  of  this  seemingly  barbarous 
story.  Apollo  was  pleased  with  his  young 
rival,  fixed  him  in  position  against  an  iron 
rest,  (the  tree  of  the  fable,)  and  took  a  photo 
graph,  a  sun-picture,  of  him.  This  thin  film 


SUN-PAINTING.  167 

or  skin  of  light  and  shade  was  absurdly  inter 
preted  as  being  the  cutis,  or  untanned  leather 
integument  of  the  young  shepherd.  The  human 
discovery  of  the  art  of  photography  enables  us 
to  rectify  the  error  and  restore  that  important 
article  of  clothing  to  the  youth,  as  well  as  to 
vindicate  the  character  of  Apollo.  There  is 
one  spot  kss  upon  the  sun  since  the  theft  from 
heaven  of  Prometheus  Daguerre  and  his  fellow- 
adventurers  has  enabled  us  to  understand  the 
ancient  legend. 

We  are  now  flaying  our  friends  and  submit 
ting  to  be  flayed  ourselves,  every  few  years  or 
months  or  days,  by  the  aid  of  the  trench 
ant  sunbeam  which  performed  the  process  for 
Marsyas.  All  the  world  has  to  submit  to  it, 
-kings  and  queens  with  the  rest.  The  mon 
uments  of  Art  and  the  face  of  Nature  herself 
are  treated  in  the  same  way.  We  lift  an  impal 
pable  scale  from  the  surface  of  the  Pyramids. 
We  slip  off  from  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's  that 
other  imponderable  dome  which  fitted  it  so 
closely  that  it  betrays  every  scratch  on  the 
original.  We  skim  off  a  thin,  dry  cuticle  from 


168  SUN-PAINTING 

the  rapids  of  Niagara,  and  lay  it  on  our  un- 
moistened  paper  without  breaking  a  bubble  or 
losing  a  speck  of  foam.  We  steal  a  landscape 
from  its  lawful  owners,  and  defy  the  charge  of 
dishonesty.  We  skin  the  flints  by  the  wayside, 
and  nobody  accuses  us  of  meanness. 

These  miracles  are  being  worked  all  around 
us  so  easily  and  so  cheaply  that  most  people 
have  ceased  to  think  of  them  as  marvels.  There 
is  a  photographer  established  in  every  consid 
erable  village,  —  nay,  one  may  not  unfrequently 
see  a  photographic  ambulance  standing  at  the 
wayside  upon  some  vacant  lot  where  it  can 
squat  unchallenged  in  the  midst  of  burdock 
and  plantain  and  apple-Peru,  or  making  a  long 
halt  in  the  middle  of  a  common  by  special  per 
mission  of  the  "  Selectmen." 

We  must  not  forget  the  inestimable  precious- 
ness  of  the  new  Promethean  gifts  because  they 
have  become  familiar.  Think  first  of  the  privi 
lege  we  all  possess  now  of  preserving  the  linea 
ments  and  looks  of  those  dear  to  us. 

"  Blest  be  the  art  which  can  immortalize," 

said  Cowper.     But  remember  how  few  painted 


.\.\D  SUN-SCULPTURE.  169 

portraits  really  give  their  subjects.  Recollect 
those  wandering  Thugs  of  Art  whose  murder 
ous  doings  with  the  brush  used  frequently  to 
involve  whole  families  ;  who  passed  from  one 
country  tavern  to  another,  eating  and  painting 
their  way,  —  feeding  a  week  upon  the  landlord, 
another  week  upon  the  landlady,  and  two  or 
three  days  apiece  upon  the  children ;  as  the 
walls  of  those  hospitable  edifices  too  frequently 
testify  even  to  the  present  day.  Then  see  what 
faithful  memorials  of  those  whom  we  love  and 
would  remember  are  put  into  our  hands  by  the 
new  art,  with  the  most  trifling  expenditure  of 
time  and  money. 

This  new  art  is  old  enough  already  to  have 
given  us  the  portraits  of  infants  who  are  now 
growing  into  adolescence.  By  and  by  it  will 
show  every  aspect  of  life  in  the  same  individ 
ual,  from  the  earliest  week  to  the  last  year  of 
senility.  We  are  beginning  to  see  what  it  will 
reveal.  Children  grow  into  beauty  and  out  of 
it.  The  first  line  in  the  forehead,  the  first 
streak  in  the  hair  are  chronicled  without  mal 
ice,  but  without  extenuation.  The  footprints 

8 


170  SUN-PAINTING 

of  thought,  of  passion,  of  purpose  are  all  treas 
ured  in  these  fossilized  shadows.  Family- traits 
show  themselves  in  early  infancy,  die  out,  and 
reappear.  Flitting  moods  which  have  escaped 
one  pencil  of  sunbeams  are  caught  by  another. 
Each  new  picture  gives  us  a  new  aspect  of  our 
friend ;  we  find  he  had  not  one  face,  but  many. 

It  is  hardly  too  much  to  say,  that  those  whom 
we  love  no  longer  leave  us  in  dying,  as  they  did 
of  old.  They  remain  with  us  just  as  they  ap 
peared  in  life  ;  they  look  down  upon  us  from 
our  walls ;  they  lie  upon  our  tables  ;  they  rest 
upon  our  bosoms  ;  nay,  if  we  will,  we  may.  wear 
their  portraits,  like  signet-rings,  upon  our  fin 
gers.  Our  own  eyes  lose  the  images  pictured 
on  them.  Parents  sometimes  forget  the  faces 
of  their  own  children  in  a  separation  of  a  year 
or  two.  But  the  unfading  artificial  retina  which 
has  looked  upon  them  retains  their  impress,  and 
a  fresh  sunbeam  lays  this  on  the  living  nerve 
as  if  it  were  radiated  from  the  breathing  shape. 
How  these  shadows  last,  and  how  their  originals 
fade  away ! 

What  is  true  of  the  faces  of  our  friends  is  still 


-I.VD  SUN-SCULPTURE.  171 

more  true  of  the  places  we  have  seen  and  loved. 
No  picture  produces  an  impression  on  the  im 
agination  to  compare  with  a  photographic  tran 
script  of  the  home  of  our  childhood,  or  any  scene 
with  which  we  have  been  long  familiar.  The 
very  point  which  the  artist  omits,  in  his  effort 
to  produce  general  effect,  may  be  exactly  the 
one  that  individualizes  the  place  most  strongly 
to  our  memory.  There,  for  instance,  is  a  pho 
tographic  view  of  our  own  birthplace,  and  with 
it  of  a  part  of  our  good  old  neighbor's  dwelling. 
An  artist  would  hardly  have  noticed  a  slender, 
dry,  leafless  stalk  which  traces  a  faint  line,  as 
you  may  see,  along  the  front  of  our  neighbor's 
house  next  the  corner.  That  would  be  nothino- 

O 

to  him,  —  but  to  us  it  marks  the  stem  of  the 
honeysuckle-vine,  which  we  remember,  with  its 
pink  and  white  heavy-scented  blossoms,  as  long 
as  we  remember  the  stars  in  heaven. 

To  this  charm  of  fidelity  in  the  minutest  de 
tails  the  stereoscope  adds  its  astonishing  illusion 
of  solidity,  and  thus  completes  the  effect  which 
so  entrances  the  imagination.  Perhaps  there  is 
also  some  half-magnetic  effect  in  the  fixing  of 


172  SUN-PAINTING 

the  eyes  on  the  twin  pictures,  —  something  like 
Mr.  Braid's  hypnotism^  of  which  many  of  our 
readers  have  doubtless  heard.  At  least  the 
shutting  out  of  surrounding  objects,  and  the 
concentration  of  the  whole  attention,  which  is 
a  consequence  of  this,  produce  a  dream-like 
exaltation  of  the  faculties,  a  kind  of  clairvoy 
ance,  in  which  we  seem  to  leave  the  body  be 
hind  us  and  sail  away  into  one  strange  scene 
'after  another,  like  disembodied  spirits. 

"  Ah,  yes,"  some  unimaginative  reader  may 
say ;  "  but  there  is  no  color  and  no  motion  in 
these  pictures  you  think  so  lifelike ;  and  at  best 
they  are  but  petty  miniatures  of  the  objects  we 
see  in  Nature." 

But  color  is,  after  all,  a  very  secondary  quality 
as  compared  with  form.  We  like  a  good  crayon 
portrait  better  for  the  most  part  in  black  and 
white  than  in  tints  of  pink  and  blue  and  brown. 
Mr.  Gibson  has  never  succeeded  in  making  the 
world  like  his  flesh-colored  statues.  The  color 
of  a  landscape  varies  perpetually,  with  the  sea 
son,  with  the  hour  of  the  day,  with  the  weather, 
and  as  seen  by  sunlight  or  moonlight ;  yet  our 


AND  SUN-SCULPTURE.  173 

home  stirs  us  with  its  old  associations,  seen  in 
any  and  every  light. 

As  to  motion,  though  of  course  it  is  not  pres 
ent  in  stereoscopic  pictures,  except  in  those  toy- 
contrivances  which  have  been  lately  introduced, 
yet  it  is  wonderful  to  see  how  nearly  the  effect 
of  motion  is  produced  by  the  slight  difference 
of  light  on  the  water  or  on  the  leaves  of  trees  as 
seen  by  the  two  eyes  in  the  double-picture. 

And  lastly  with  respect  to  size,  the  illusion  is 
on  the  part  of  those  who  suppose  that  the  eye, 
unaided,  ever  sees  anything  but  miniatures  of 
objects.  Here  is  a  new  experiment  to  convince 
those  who  have  not  reflected  on  the  subject  that 
the  stereoscope  shows  us  objects  of  their  natural 
size. 

We  had  a  stereoscopic  view  taken  by  Mr. 
Soule  out  of  our  parlor-window,  overlooking 
the  town  of  Cambridge,  with  the  river  and  the 
bridge  in  the  foreground.  Now,  placing  this 
view  in  the  stereoscope,  and  looking  with  the 
left  eye  at  the  right  stereographic  picture,  while 
the  right  eye  looked  at  the  natural  landscape, 
through  the  window  where  the  view  was  taken, 


174  SUN-PAINTING 

it  was  not  difficult  so  to  adjust  the  photographic 
and  real  views  that  one  overlapped  the  other, 
and  then  it  was  shown  that  the  two  almost  ex 
actly  coincided  in  all  their  dimensions. 

Another  point  in  which  the  stereograph  differs 
from  every  other  delineation  is  in  the  character 
of  its  evidence.  A  simple  photographic  picture 
may  be  tampered  with.  A  lady's  portrait  has 
been  known  to  come  out  of  the  finishing-artist's 
room  ten  years  younger  than  when  it  left  the 
camera.  But  try  to  mend  a  stereograph  and 
you  will  soon  find  the  difference.  Your  marks 
and  patches  float  above  the  picture  and  never 
identify  themselves  with  it.  We  had  occasion 
to  put  a  little  cross  on  the  pavement  of  a  double 
photograph  of  Canterbury  Cathedral,  —  copying 
another  stereoscopic  picture  where  it  was  thus 
marked.  By  careful  management  the  two  cross 
es  were  made  perfectly  to  coincide  in  the  field 
of  vision,  but  the  image  seemed  suspended  above 
the  pavement,  and  did  not  absolutely  designate 
any  one  stone,  as  it  would  have  done  if  it  had 
been  a  part  of  the  original  picture.  The  impos 
sibility  of  the  stereograph's  perjuring  itself  is  a 


A-ND  SUN-SCULPTURE.  175 

curious  illustration  of  the  law  of  evidence.  "  At 
the  mouth  of  two  witnesses,  or  of  three,  shall  he 
that  is  worthy  of  death  be  put  to  death  ;  but  at 
the  mouth  of  one  he  shall  not  be  put  to  death." 
No  woman  may  be  declared  youthful  on  the 
strength  of  a  single  photograph  ;  but  if  the  ster 
eoscopic  twins  say  she  is  young,  let  her  be  so 
acknowledged  in  the  high  court  of  chancery  of 
the  God  of  Love. 

Some  two  or  three  years  since,  we  called  the 
attention  of  the  readers  of  this  magazine  to  the 
subject  of  the  stereoscope  and  the  stereograph. 
Some  of  our  expressions  may  have  seemed  ex 
travagant,  as  if  heated  by  the  interest  which  a 
curious  novelty  might  not  unnaturally  excite. 
We  have  not  lost  any  of  the  enthusiasm  and 
delight  which  that  article  must  have  betrayed. 
After  looking  over  perhaps  a  hundred  thousand 
stereographs  and  making  a  collection  of  about 
a  thousand,  we  should  feel  the  same  excitement 
on  receiving  a  new  lot  to  look  over  and  select 
from  as  in  those  early  days  of  our  experience. 
To  make  sure  that  this  early  interest  has  not 


176  SUN-PAINTING     ' 

cooled,  let  us  put  on  record   one  or  two  con 
victions  of  the  present  moment* 

First,  as  to  the  wonderful  nature  of  the  in 
vention.  If  a  strange  planet  should  happen  to 
come  within  hail,  and  one  of  its  philosophers 
were  to  ask  us,  as  it  passed,  to  hand  him  the 
most  remarkable  material  product  of  human 
skill,  we  should  offer  him,  without  a  moment's 
hesitation,  a  stereoscope  containing  an  instan 
taneous  double-view  of  some  great  thorough 
fare,  —  one  of  Mr.  Anthony's  views  of  Broad 
way,  (No.  203,)  for  instance. 

Secondly,  of  all  artificial  contrivances  for  the 
gratification  of  human  taste,  we  seriously  ques 
tion  whether  any  offers  so  much,  on  the  whole, 
to  the  enjoyment  of  the  civilized  races,  as  the 
self-picturing  of  Art  and  Nature,  —  with  three 
exceptions:  namely,  dress,  the  most  universal, 
architecture,  the  most  imposing,  and  music,  the 
most  exciting,  of  factitious  sources  of  pleasure. 

No  matter  whether  this  be  an  extravagance 
or  an  over-statement ;  none  can  dispute  that  we 
have  a  new  and  wonderful  source  of  pleasure  in 
the  sun-picture,  and  especially  in  the  solid  sun- 


AND  SUN-SCULPTURE.  177 

sculpture  of  the  stereograph.  Yet  there  is  a 
strange  indifference  to  it,  even  up  to  the  present 
moment,  among  many  persons  of  cultivation  and 
taste.  They  do  not  seem  to  have  waked  up  to 
the  significance  of  the  miracle  which  the  Lord 
of  Light  is  working  for  them.  The  cream  of  the 
visible  creation  has  been  skimmed  off;  and  the 
sights  which  men  risk  their  lives  and  spend  their 
money  and  endure  sea-sickness  to  behold,  —  the 
views  of  Nature  and  Art  which  make  exiles  of 
entire  families  for  the  sake  of  a  look  at  them,  and 
render  "  bronchitis  "  and  dyspepsia,  followed  by 
leave  of  absence,  endurable  dispensations  to  so 
many  worthy  shepherds,  —  these  sights,  gath 
ered  from  Alps,  temples,  palaces,  pyramids,  are 
offered  you  for  a  trifle,  to  carry  home  with  you, 
that  you  may  look  at  them  at  your  leisure,  by 
your  fireside,  with  perpetual  fair  weather,  when 
you  are  in  the  mood,  without  catching  cold, 
without  following  a  valet- de-place,  in  any  order 
of  succession,  —  from  a  glacier  to  Vesuvius,  from 
Niagara  to  Memphis,  —  as  long  as  you  like,  and 
breaking  off  as  suddenly  as  you  like  ;  —  and  you, 
native  of  this  incomparably  dull  planet,  have 
8*  L 


178  SUN-PAINTING 

hardly  troubled  yourself  to  look  at  this  divine 
gift,  which,  if  an  angel  had  brought  it  from 
some  sphere  nearer  to  the  central  throne, 
would  have  been  thought  worthy  of  the  celes 
tial  messenger  to  whom  it  was  intrusted  ! 

It  seemed  to  us  that  it  might  possibly  awaken 
an  interest  in  some  of  our  readers,  if  we  should 
carry  them  with  us  through  a  brief  stereographic 
trip,  —  describing,  not  from  places,  but  from  the 
photographic  pictures  of  them  which  we  have 
in  our  own  collection.  Again,  those  who  have 
collections  may  like  to  compare  their  own  opin 
ions  of  particular  pictures  mentioned  with  such 
as  are  here  expressed,  and  those  who  are  buy 
ing  stereographs  may  be  glad  of  some  guidance 
in  choosing. 

But  the  reader  must  remember  that  this  trip 
gives  him  only  a  glimpse  of  a  few  scenes  selected 
out  of  our  gallery  of  a  thousand.  To  visit  them 
all,  as  tourists  visit  the  realities,  and  report  what 
we  saw,  with  the  usual  explanations  and  histori 
cal  illustrations,  would  make  a  formidable  book 
of  travels. 


AND  SUN-SCULPTURE.  179 

Before  we  set  out,  we  must  know  sometliing 
of  the  sights  of  our  own  country.  At  least  we 
must  see  Niagara.  The  great  fall  shows  infi 
nitely  best  on  glass.  Thomson's  "  Point  View, 
28,"  would  be  a  perfect  picture  of  the  Falls  in 
summer,  if  a  lady  in  the  foreground  had  not 
moved  her  shawl  while  the  pictures  were  taking, 
or  in  the  interval  between  taking  the  two.  His 
winter  view,  "  Terrapin  Tower,  37,"  is  perfec 
tion  itself.  Both  he  and  Evans  have  taken  fine 
views  of  the  rapids,  instantaneous,  catching  the 
spray  as  it  leaped  and  the  clouds  overhead.  Of 
Blondin  on  his  rope  there  are  numerous  views ; 
standing  on  one  foot,  on  his  head,  carrying  a 
man  on  his  back,  and  one  frightful  picture, 
where  he  hangs  by  one  leg,  head  downward, 
over  the  abyss.  The  best  we  have  seen  is 
Evans's  No.  5,  a  front  view,  where  every 
muscle  stands  out  in  perfect  relief,  and  the 
symmetry  of  the  most  unimpressible  of  mortals 
is  finely  shown.  It  literally  makes  the  head 
swim  to  fix  the  eyes  on  some  of  these  pic 
tures.  It  is  a  relief  to  get  away  from  such 
fearful  sights  and  look  up  at  the  Old  Man  of 


180  SUN-PAINTING 

the  Mountain.  There  stands  the  face,  without 
any  humanizing  help  from  the  hand  of  an  art 
ist.  Mr.  Bierstadt  has  given  it  to  us  very  well. 
Rather  an  imbecile  old  gentleman,  one  would 
say,  with  his  mouth  open ;  a  face  such  as  one 
may  see  hanging  about  railway-stations,  and, 
what  is  curious,  a  New  England  style  of  coun 
tenance.  Let  us  flit  again,  and  just  take  a  look 
at  the  level  sheets  of  water  and  broken  falls  of 
Trenton,  —  at  the  oblong,  almost  squared  arch 
of  the  Natural  Bridge,  —  at  the  rains  of  the 
Pemberton  Mills,  still  smoking,  —  and  so  come 
to  Mr.  Barnum's  "  Historical  Series."  Clark's 
Island,  with  the  great  rock  by  which  the  Pil 
grims  "rested,  according  to  the  commandment," 
on  the  first  Sunday,  or  Sabbath,  as  they  loved  to 
call  it,  which  they  passed  in  the  harbor  of  Ply 
mouth,  is  the  most  interesting  of  them  all  to  us. 
But  here  are  many  scenes  of  historical  interest 
connected  with  the  great  names  and  events  of 
our  past.  The  Washington  Elm,  at  Cambridge, 
(through  the  branches  of  which  we  saw  the  first 
sunset  we  ever  looked  upon,  from  this  planet,  at 
least,)  is  here  in  all  its  magnificent  drapery  of 


AND  SUN-SCULPTURE.  181 

hanging  foliage.  Mr.  Soule  has  given  another 
beautiful  view  of  it,  when  stripped  of  its  leaves, 
equally  remarkable  for  the  delicacy  of  its  pen 
dent,  hair-like  spray. 

We  should  keep  the  reader  half  an  hour  look 
ing  through  this  series,  if  we  did  not  tear  our 
selves  abruptly  away  from  it.  We  are  bound 
for  Europe,  and  are  to  leave  via  New  York  im 
mediately. 

Here  we  are  in  the  main  street  of  the  great 
city.  This  is  Mr.  Anthony's  miraculous  instan 
taneous  view  in  Broadway,  (No.  203,)  before 
referred  to.  It  is  the  Oriental  story  of  the  pet 
rified  city  made  real  to  our  eyes.  The  character 
of  it  is  perhaps  best  shown  by  the  use  we  make 
of  it  in  our  lectures,  to  illustrate  the  physiology  of 
walking.  Every  foot  is  caught  in  its  movement 
with  such  suddenness  that  it  shows  as  clearly 
as  if  quite  still.  We  are  surprised  to  see,  in  one 
figure,  how  long  the  stride  is,  —  in  another,  how 
much  the  knee  is  bent,  —  in  a  third,  how  curi 
ously  the  heel  strikes  the  ground  before  the  rest 
of  the  foot,  —  in  all,  how  singularly  the  body  is 
accommodated  to  the  action  of  walking.  The 


182  SUN-PAINTING 

facts  which  the  brothers  Weber,  laborious  Ger 
man  experimenters  and  observers,  had  carefully 
worked  out  on  the  bony  frame,  are  illustrated 
by  the  various  individuals  comprising  this  mov 
ing  throng.  But  what  a  wonder  it  is,  this  snatch 
at  the  central  life  of  a  mighty  city  as  it  rushed 
by  in  all  its  multitudinous  complexity  of  move 
ment  !  Hundreds  of  objects  in  this  picture 
could  be  identified  in  a  court  of  law  by  their 
owners.  There  stands  Car  No.  33  of  the  Astor 
House  and  Twenty-Seventh  Street  Fourth  Ave 
nue  line.  The  old  woman  would  miss  an  apple 
from  that  pile  which  you  see  glistening  on  her 
stand.  The  young  man  whose  back  is  to  us 
could  swear  to  the  pattern  of  his  shawl.  The 
gentleman  between  two  others  will  no  doubt 
remember  that  he  had  a  headache  the  next 
morning,  after  this  walk  he  is  taking.  Notice 
the  caution  with  which  the  man  driving  the 
dapple-gray  horse  in  a  cart  loaded  with  barrels 
holds  his  reins,  —  wide  apart,  one  in  each  hand. 
See  the  shop-boys  with  their  bundles,  the  young 
fellow  with  a  lighted  cigar  in  his  hand,  as  you 
see  by  the  way  he  keeps  it  off  from  his  body, 


AND  SUN-SCULPTURE.  183 

the  gamin  stooping  to  pick  up  something  in  the 
midst  of  the  moving  omnibuses,  the  stout  philo 
sophical  carman  sitting  on  his  cart-tail,  Newman 
Noggs  by  the  lamp-post  at  the  corner.  Nay, 
look  into  Car  No.  33  and  you  may  see  the  pas 
sengers  ;  —  is  that  a  young  woman's  face  turned 
toward  you  looking  out  of  the  window?  See 
hojv  the  faithful  sun-print  advertises  the  rival 
establishment  of  "  Meade  Brothers,  Ambrotypes 
and  Photographs."  What  a  fearfully  suggestive 
picture  !  It  is  a  leaf  torn  from  the  book  of 
God's  recording  angel.  What  if  the  sky  is  one 
great  concave  mirror,  which  reflects  the  picture 
of  all  our  doings,  and  photographs  every  act  on 
which  it  looks  upon  dead  and  living  surfaces,  so 
that  to  celestial  eyes  the  stones  on  which  we 
tread  are  written  with  our  deeds,  and  the  leaves 
of  the  forest  are  but  undeveloped  negatives  where 
our  summers  stand  self-recorded  for  transfer  into 
the  imperishable  record  ?  And  what  a  meta 
physical  puzzle  have  we  here  in  this  simple- 
looking  paradox  !  Is  motion  but  a  succession 
of  rests  ?  All  is  still  in  this  picture  of  universal 
movement.  Take  ten  thousand  instantaneous 


184  SUN-PAINTING 

photographs  of  the  great  thoroughfare  in  a  day ; 
every  one  of  them  will  be  as  still  as  the  tableau 
in  the  "  Enchanted  Beauty."  Yet  the  hurried 
day's  life  of  Broadway  will  have  been  made  up 
of  just  such  stillnesses.  Motion  is  as  rigid  as 
marble,  if  you  only  take  a  wink's  worth  of  it  at 
a  time. 

We  are  all  ready  to  embark  now.  Here  is 
the  harbor  ;  and  there  lies  the  Great  Eastern  at 
anchor,  —  the  biggest  island  that  ever  got  adrift. 
Stay  one  moment,  —  they  will  ask  us  about  se 
cession  and  the  revolted  States,  —  it  may  be  as 
well  to  take  a  look  at  Charleston,  for  an  instant, 
before  we  go. 

These  three  stereographs  were  sent  us  by  a 
lady  now  residing  in  Charleston.  The  Battery, 
the  famous  promenade  of  the  Charlestonians, 
since  armed  with  twenty-four  pounders  facing 
Fort  Sumter;  the  interior  of  Fort  Moultrie, 
with  the  guns  since  spiked  by  Major  Anderson ; 
and  a  more  extensive  view  of  the  same  interior, 
with  the  flag  of  the  Union  still  flying,  — the 
free  end  of  it  tied  to  a  gun-carriage,  probably 


AND  SUN-SCULPTURE.  185 

for  the  convenience  of  the  photographer,  as 
one  of  the  garrison  explains  it  for  us.  In  the 
distance,  to  the  right,  Fort  Sumter,  looking  re 
mote  and  inaccessible,  —  the  terrible  rattle  which 
our  foolish  little  spoiled  sister  Caroline  has  in 
sisted  on  getting  into  her  rash  hand.  How 
ghostly,  yet  how  real,  it  looms  up  out  of  the 
dim  atmosphere,  —  the  guns  looking  over  the 
wall  and  out  through  the  embrasures,  —  meant 
for  a  foreign  foe,  —  this  very  day  (April  13th) 
turned  in  self-defence  against  the  children  of 
those  who  once  fought  for  liberty  at  Fort  Moul- 
trie !  It  is  a  sad  thought  that  there  are  truths 
which  can  be  got  out  of  life  only  by  the  destruc 
tive  analysis  of  war.  Statesmen  deal  in  proxi 
mate  principles,  —  unstable  compounds  ;  but  war 
reduces  facts  to  their  simple  elements  in  its  red- 
hot  crucible,  with  its  black  flux  of  carbon  and 
sulphur  and  nitre.  Let  us  turn  our  back  on 
this  miserable,  even  though  inevitable,  fraternal 
strife,  and,  closing  our  eyes  for  an  instant,  open 
them  in  London. 

Here  we  are  at  the  foot  of  Charing  Cross. 


18  6  5  UN-PA  IN  TING 

You  remember,  of  course,  how  this  fine  eques 
trian  statue  of  Charles  I.  was  condemned  to  be 
sold  and  broken  up  by  the  Parliament,  but  was 
buried  and  saved  by  the  brazier  who  purchased 
it,  and  so  reappeared  after  the  Restoration.  To 
the  left,  the  familiar  words,  "  Morley's  Hotel" 
designate  an  edifice  about  half  windows,  where 
the  plebeian  traveller  may  sit  and  contem 
plate  Northumberland  House  opposite,  and  the 
straight-tailed  lion  of  the  Percys  surmounting 
the  lofty  battlement  which  crowns  its  broad 
facade.  We  could  describe  and  criticise  the 
statue  as  well  as  if  we  stood  under  it,  but  other 
travellers  have  done  that.  Where  are  all  the 
people  that  ought  to  be  seen  here  ?  Hardly 
more  than  three  or  four  figures  are  to  be  made 
out ;  the  rest  were  moving,  and  left  no  images 
in  this  slow,  old-fashioned  picture,  —  how  un 
like  the  miraculous  "  instantaneous  "  Broadway 
of  Mr.  Anthony  we  were  looking  at  a  little  while 
ago  !  But  there,  on  one  side,  an  omnibus  has 
stopped  long  enough  to  be  caught  by  the  sun 
beams.  There  is  a  mark  on  it.  Try  it  with  a 
magnifier. 


AND  SUN-SCULPTURE.  187 

Charing 

+ 
Strand 

633. 

Here  are  the  towers  of  Westminster  Abbey. 
A  dead  failure,  as  we  well  remember  them,— 
miserable  modern  excrescences,  which  shame 
the  noble  edifice.  We  will  hasten  on,  and 
perhaps  by  and  by  come  back  and  enter  the 
cathedral. 

How  natural  Temple  Bar  looks,  with  the 
loaded  coach  and  the  cab  going  through  the 
central  arch,  and  the  blur  of  the  hurrying 
throng  darkening  the  small  lateral  ones  !  A 
fine  old  structure,  —  always  reminds  a  Bosto- 
nian  of  the  old  arch  over  which  the  mysterious 
Boston  Library  was  said  still  to  linger  out  its 
existence  late  into  the  present  century.  But 
where  are  the  spikes  on  which  the  rebels'  heads 
used  to  grin  until  their  jaws  fell  off?  One 
of  Hogarth's  pictures  will  perhaps  help  us  to 
answer  this  question  which  the  stereograph 
leaves  doubtful.  To  the  left  a  woman  is 
spreading  an  awning  before  a  shop  ;  —  a 
man  would  do  it  for  her  here.  Ghost  of  a 


188  SUN-PAINTING 

boy  with  bundle,  —  seen  with  right  eye  only. 
Other  ghosts  of  passers  or  loiterers,  —  one  of  a 
pretty  woman,  as  we  fancy  at  least,  by  the  way 
she  turns  her  face  to  us.  To  the  right,  frag 
ments  of  signs,  as  follows  : 

22 

PAT 

CO 

BR 

PR 

What  can  this  be  but  229,  Patent  Combs  and 
Brushes,  PROUT  ?  At  any  rate,  we  were  look 
ing  after  Prout's  good  old  establishment,  (229, 
Strand,)  which  we  remembered  was  close  to 
Temple  Bar,  when  we  discovered  these  frag 
ments,  the  rest  being  cut  off  by  the  limits  of 
the  picture. 

London  Bridge  !  Less  imposing  than  Water 
loo  Bridge,  but  a  massive  pile  of  masonry,  which 
looks  as  if  its  rounded  piers  would  defy  the 
Thames  as  long  as  those  of  the  Bridge  of 
Sant'  Angelo  have  stemmed  the  Tiber.  Fig 
ures  indistinct  or  invisible,  as  usual,  in  the 
foreground,  but  farther  on  a  mingled  proces- 


AND  SUN-SCULPTURE.  139 

sion  of  coaches,  cabs,  carts,  and  people.  See 
the  groups  in  the  recesses  over  the  piers.  The 
parapet  is  breast-high  ;  —  a  woman  can  climb 
over  it,  and  drop  or  leap  into  the  dark  stream 
lying  in  deep  shadow  under  the  arches.  Women 
take  this  leap  often.  The  angels  hear  them  like 
the  splash  of  drops  of  blood  out  of  the  heart 
of  our  humanity.  In  the  distance,  wharves, 
storehouses,  stately  edifices,  steeples,  and  rising 
proudly  above  them,  "  like  a  tall  bully,"  Lon 
don  Monument. 

Here  we  are,  close  to  the  Monument.  Tall, 
square  base,  with  reliefs,  fluted  columns,  queer 
top;  —  looks  like  an  inverted  wineglass  with  a 
shaving-brush  standing  up  on  it :  representative 
of  flame,  probably.  Below  this  the  square  cage 
in  which  people  who  have  climbed  the  stairs  are 
standing  ;  seems  to  be  ten  or  twelve  feet  hicrh, 

o    " 

and  is  barred  or  wired  over.  Women  used  to 
jump  off  from  the  Monument  as  well  as  from 
London  Bridge,  before  they  made  the  cage  safe 
in  this  way. 

"  Holloa  I  "  said  a  man  standing  in  the  Square 
one  day,  to  his  companion,  —  "  there  's  the  flag 
coining  down  from  the  Monument ! " 


190  SUN-PAINTING 

"It's  no  flag,"  said  the  other;  "it's  a  wo 
man  ! " 

Sure  enough,  and  so  it  was. 

Nobody  can  mistake  the  four  pepper-boxes, 
with  the  four  weathercocks  on  them,  surmount 
ing  the  corners  of  a  great  square  castle,  a  little 
way  from  the  river's  edge.  That  is  the  Tower 
of  London.  We  see  it  behind  the  masts  of  sail 
ing-vessels  and  the  chimneys  of  steamers,  gray 
and  misty  in  the  distance.  Let  us  come  nearer 
to  it.  Four  square  towers,  crowned  by  four 
Oriental-looking  domes,  not  unlike  the  lower 
half  of  an  inverted  balloon :  these  towers  at  the 
angles  of  a  square  building  with  buttressed  and 
battlemented  walls,  with  two  ranges  of  round- 
arched  windows  on  the  side  towards  us.  But 
connected  with  this  building  are  other  towers, 
round,  square,  octagon,  walls  with  embrasures, 
moats,  loop-holes,  turrets,  parapets,  — looking  ns 
if  the  beef-eaters  really  meant  to  hold  out,  if  a 
new  army  of  Boulogne  should  cross  over  some 
fine  morning.  We  can't  stop  to  go  in  and  see 
the  lions  this  morning,  for  we  have  come  in 
sight  of  a  great  dome,  and  we  cannot  take  our 
eyes  away  from  it. 


AND  SUN-SCULPTURE.  191 

That  is  St.  Paul's,  the  Boston  State-House 
of  London.  There  is  a  resemblance  in  effect, 
but  there  is  a  difference  in  dimensions,  —  to  the 
disadvantage  of  the  native  edifice,  as  the  reader 
may  see  in  the  plate  prefixed  to  Dr.  Bigelow's 
"  Technology."  The  dome  itself  looks  light  and 
airy  compared  to  St.  Peter's  or  the  Duomo  of 
Florence,  —  not  only  absolutely,  but  compara 
tively.  The  colonnade  on  which  it  rests  divides 
the  honors  with  it.  It  does  not  brood  over 
the  city,  as  those  two  others  over  their  subject 
towns.  Michel  Angelo's  forehead  repeats  itself 
in  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's.  Sir  Christopher  had 
doubtless  a  less  ample  frontal  development; 
indeed,  the  towers  he  added  to  Westminster 
Abbey  would  almost  lead  us  to  doubt  if  he  had 
not  a  vacancy  somewhere  in  his  brain.  But  the 
dome  of  the  London  "  State-House  "  is  very 
graceful,  —  so  light  that  it  looks  as  if  its  lineage 
had  been  crossed  by  a  spire.  Wait  until  we 
have  gilded  *the  dome  of  our  Boston  St.  Paul's 
before  drawing  any  comparisons. 

We  have  seen  the  outside  of  London.     What 
do  we  care  for  the  Crescent,  and   the   Horse- 


192  SUN-PAINTING 

guards,  and  Nelson's  Monument  and  the  statue 
of  Achilles,  and  the  new  Houses  of  Parliament  ? 
The   Abbey,  the   Tower,  the   Bridge,   Temple 
Bar,  the  Monument,  St.  Paul's  :  these  make  up 
the  great  features  of  the  London  we  dream  about. 
Let  us  go  into  the  Abbey  for  a  few  moments. 
The  «  dim  religious  light"  is  pretty  good,  after 
all.     We  can  read  every  letter  on  that  mural 
tablet   to  the  memory  of  the  "  most   illustrious 
and  most  benevolent  John  Paul  Howard,  Earl 
of  Stafford,"  "  a  Lover  of  his  Country,  A  Rela 
tion  to  Relations,"  (what  a  eulogy  and  satire  in 
that  expression  !)  and  in  many  ways  virtuous  and 
honorable,  as  "  The  Countess  Dowager,  in  Tes 
timony  of  her  Great  Affection  and  Respect  to 
her  Lord's  Memory,"  has  commemorated  on  his 
monument.     We    can    see  all    the  folds  of  the 
Duchess  of  Suffolk's  dress,   and  the  meshes   of 
the  net  that  confines  her   hair,  as  she  lies  in 
marble  effigy  on  her  sculptured  sarcophagus.     It 
looks  old  to  our  eyes,  for  she  was  the  mother 
of  Lady  Jane   Grey,   and  died  three   hundred 
years   ago,  —  but    see    those    two   little   stone 
heads    lying   on   their   stone    pillow,    just    be- 


AND  SUN-SCULPTURE.  193 

yond  the  marble  Duchess.     They  are  children 
of   Edward    III., —  the   Black    Prince's    baby- 
brothers.     They  died  five    hundred  years  ago, 
—  but  what  are  centuries  in  Westminster  Ab 
bey?      Under  the   pillared    canopy,    her   head 
raised  on  two  stone  cushions,  her  fair,  still  fea 
tures  bordered  with  the  spreading  cap  we  know 
so  well  in  her  portraits,  lies  Mary  of  Scotland. 
These,  fresh  monuments,  protected  from  the  wear 
of  the  elements,  seem  to  make  twenty  genera 
tions  our  contemporaries.     Look  at  this  husband 
warding  off  the  dart  which   the   grim,  draped 
skeleton  is  aiming  at  the  breast  of  his  fainting 
wife.     Most  famous,  perhaps,  of  all  the  statues 
in  the  Abbey  is  this  of  Joseph  Gascoigne  Night 
ingale  and  his  Lady,  by  Roubilliac.     You  n°eed 
not  cross  the  ocean  to  see  it.     It  is  here,  liter 
ally,  to  every  dimple  in  the  back  of  the  falling 
hand,    and  every  crinkle    of    the   vermiculated 
stone-work.     What  a  curious  pleasure  it  is  to 
puzzle  out  the  inscriptions  on  the  monuments  in 
the  background  I  —  for  the  beauty  of  your  photo 
graph  is,  that  you  may  work  out  minute  details 
with  the  microscope,  just  as  you  can  with  the 


194  SUN-PAINTING 

telescope  in  a  distant  landscape  in  Nature. 
There  is  a  lady,  for  instance,  leaning  upon  an 
urn,  —  suggestive,  a  little,  of  Morgiana  and  the 
forty  thieves.  Above  is  a  medallion  of  one 
wearing  a  full  periwig.  Now  for  a  half-inch 
lens  to  make  out  the  specks  that  seem  to  be 
letters.  "  Erected  to  the  Memory  of  William 
Pulteney,  Earl  of  Bath,  by  his  Brother"  — 
That  will  do,  —  the  inscription  operates  as  a 
cold  bath  to  enthusiasm.  But  here  is  our  own 
personal  namesake,  the  once  famous  Rear  Ad 
miral  of  the  White,  whose  biography  we  can  find 
nowhere  except  in  the  "  Gentleman's  Magazine," 
where  he  divides  the  glory  of  the  capture  of 
Quebec  with  General  Wolfe.  A  handsome  young 
man  with  hyacinthine  locks,  his  arms  bare  and 
one  hand  resting  on  a  cannon.  We  remember 
thinking  our  namesake's  statue  one  of  the  most 
graceful  in  the  Abbey,  and  have  always  fallen 
back  on  the  memory  of  that  and  of  Dryden's 
Achates  of  the  "  Annus  Mirabilis,"  as  trophies 
of  the  family. 

Enough  of  these  marbles ;  there  is  no  end  to 
them ;  the  walls  and  floor  of  the  great,  many- 


AND  SUN-SCULPTURE.  195 

arched,  thousand-pillared,  sky-lifted  cavern  are 
crusted  all  over  with  them,  like  stalactites  and 
stalagmites.  The  vast  temple  is  alive  with  the 
images  of  the  dead.  Kings  and  queens,  nobles, 
statesmen,  soldiers,  admirals,  the  great  men 
whose  deeds  we  all  know,  the  great  writers 
whose  words  are  in  all  our  memories,  the  brave 
and  the  beautiful  whose  fame  has  shrunk  into 
their  epitaphs,  are  all  around  us.  What  is  the 
cry  for  alms  that  meets  us  at  the  door  of  the 
church  to  the  mute  petition  of  these  marble  beg 
gars,  who  ask  to  warm  their  cold  memories  for 
a  moment  in  our  living  hearts  ?  Look  up  at  the 
mighty  arches  overhead,  borne  up  on  tall  clus 
tered  columns,  —  as  if  that  avenue  of  Royal 
Palms  we  remember  in  the  West  India  Islands 
(photograph)  had  been  spirited  over  seas  and 
turned  into  stone.  Make  your  obeisance  to  the 
august  shape  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  reclining  like 
a  weary  swain  in  the  niche  at  the  side  of  the 
gorgeous  screen.  Pass  through  Henry  VII. 's 
Chapel,  a  temple  cut  like  a  cameo.  Look  at  the 
shining  oaken  stalls  of  the  knights.  See  the 
banners  overhead.  There  is  no  such  speaking 


196  SUN-PAINTING 

record  of  the  lapse  of  time  as  these  banners. 
There  is  one  of  them  beginning  to  drop  to 
pieces;  the  long  day  of  a  century  has  decay 
for  its  dial-shadow. 

We  have  had  a  glimpse  of  London,  —  let  us 
make  an  excursion  to  Stratford-on-Avon. 

Here  you  see  the  Shakespeare  House  as  it 
was,  —  wedged  in  between,  and  joined  to,  the 
"  Swan  and  Maidenhead  "  Tavern  and  a  mean 
and  dilapidated  brick  building,  not  much  worse 
than  itself,  however.  The  first  improvement 
(as  you  see  in  No.  2)  was  to  pull  down  this 
brick  building.  The  next  (as  you  see  in  No.  3) 
was  to  take  away  the  sign  and  the  bay-window 
of  the  "  Swan  and  Maidenhead"  and  raise  two 
gables  out  of  its  roof,  so  as  to  restore  something 
like  its  ancient  aspect.  Then  a  rustic  fence  was 
put  up,  and  the  outside  arrangements  were  com 
pleted.  The  cracked  and  faded  sign  projects  as 
we  remember  it  of  old.  In  No.  1  you  may  read 
"  THE  IMMORTAL  .HAKvspeare  .  .  .  Born  in  This 
House  "  about  as  well  as  if  you  had  been  at  the 
trouble  and  expense  of  going  there. 

But  here  is  the  back  of  the  house.     Did  little 


AND  SUN-SCULPTURE.  197 

Will  use  to  look  out  at  this  window  with  the 
bull's-eye  panes  ?  Did  he  use  to  drink  from  this 
old  pump,  or  the  well  in  which  it  stands  ?  Did 
his  shoulders  rub  against  this  angle  of  the  old 
house,  built  with  rounded  bricks  ?  It  is  a 
strange  picture,  and  sets  us  dreaming.  Let  us 
go  in  and  up-stairs.  In  this  room  he  was  born. 
They  say  so,  and  we  will  believe  it.  Rough 
walls,  rudely  boarded  floor,  wide  window  with 
small  panes,  small  bust  of  him  between  two  cac 
tuses  in  bloom  on  window-seat.  An  old  table 
covered  with  prints  and  stereographs,  a  framed 
picture,  and  under  it  a  notice  "  Copies  of  this 

Portrait " the  rest,  in  fine  print,  can  only 

be  conjectured. 

Here  is  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Trinity,  in 
which  he  lies  buried.  The  trees  are  bare  that 
surround  it ;  see  the  rooks'  nests  in  their  tops. 
The  Avon  is  hard  by,  dammed  just  here  with 
flood-gates,  like  a  canal.  Change  the  season,  if 
you  like,  —  here  are  the  trees  in  leaf,  and  in 
their  shadow  the  tombs  and  graves  of  the  mute, 

O 

inglorious  citizens  of  Stratford. 

Ah,  how  natural  this  interior,  with  its  great 


198  '  S  UN-PAINTING 

stained  window,  its  mural  monuments,  and  its 
slab  in  the  pavement  with  the  awful  inscription ! 
That  we  cannot  see  here,  but  there  is  the  tablet 
with  the  bust  we  know  so  well.  But  this,  after 
all,  is  Christ's  temple,  not  Shakespeare's.  Here 
are  the  worshippers'  seats,  —  mark  how  the  pol 
ished  wood  glistens,  —  there  is  the  altar,  and 
there  the  open  prayer-book,  —  you  can  almost 
read  the  service  from  it.  Of  the  many  striking 
things  that  Henry  Ward  Beecher  has  said,  noth 
ing,  perhaps,  is  more  impressive  than  his  account 
of  his  partaking  of  the  communion  at  that  altar 
in  the  church  where  Shakespeare  rests.  A  mem 
ory  more  divine  than  his  overshadowed  the 
place,  and  he  thought  of  Shakespeare,  "  as  he 
thought  of  ten  thousand  things,  without  the  least 
disturbance  of  his  devotion,"  though  he  was 
kneeling  directly  over  the  poet's  dust. 

If  you  will  stroll  over  to  Shottery  now  with 
me,  we  can  see  the  Ann  Hathaway  cottage  from 
four  different  points,  which  will  leave  nothing 
outside  of  it  to  be  seen.  Better  to  look  at  than 
to  live  in.  A  fearful  old  place,  full  of  small  ver 
tebrates  that  squeak  and  smaller  articulates  that 


AND  SUN-SCULPTURE.  199 

bite,  if  its  outward  promise  can  be  trusted.     A 
thick  thatch  covers  it  like  a  coarse-haired  hide. 
It  is  patched  together  with  bricks  and  timber, 
and  partly  crusted  with  scaling  plaster.     One 
window  has  the  diamond  panes  framed  in  lead, 
such  as  we  remember  seeing  of  old  in  one  or  two 
ancient  dwellings  in   the  town  of  Cambridge, 
hard  by.     In  this  view  a  young  man  is  sitting, 
pensive,  on  the  steps  which  Master  William,  too 
ardent  lover,  used  to  climb  with  hot  haste  and 
descend  with  lingering  delay.     Young  men  die, 
but  youth  lives.    Life  goes  on  ^n  the  cottage  just 
as  it  used  to  three  hundred  years  ago.     On  the 
rail  before  the  door  sits  the  puss  of  the  house 
hold,   of  the  fiftieth  generation,  perhaps,  from 
that   "harmless,  necessary  cat"    which  purred 
round  the  poet's  legs  as  he  sat  talking  love  with 
Ann  Hathaway.     At  the  foot  of  the  steps  is  a 
huge  basin,  and  over  the  rail  hangs  —  a  dish 
cloth,  drying.     In  these  homely  accidents  of  the 
very  instant,  that  cut  across  our  romantic  ideals 
with  the  sharp  edge  of  reality,  lies  one  of  the 
ineffable  charms  of  the  sun-picture.    It  is  a  little 
thing  that  gives  life  to  a  scene  or  a  face  ;  por- 


200  SUN-PAINTING 

traits  are  never  absolutely  alive,  because  they 
do  not  wink. 

Come,  we  are  full  of  Shakespeare  ;  let  us  go 
up  among  the  hills  and  see  where  another  poet 
lived  and  lies.     Here  is  Rydal  Mount,  the  home 
of  Wordsworth.     Two-storied,  ivy-clad,  hedge- 
girdled,  dropped  into  a  crease  among  the  hills 
that  look  down  dimly  from  above,  as  if  they 
were  hunting  after   it   as  ancient  dames   hunt 
after   a  dropped  thimble.      In  these  walks   he 
used  to  go  "booing  about,"  as  his  rustic  neigh 
bor  had  it,  — reciting  his  own  verses.     Here  is 
his   grave   in    Grasmere.     A   plain    slab,    with 
nothing  but  his  name.      Next  him  lies  Dora, 
his  daughter,  beneath  a  taller  stone   bordered 
with  a  tracery  of  ivy,  and  bearing  in  relief  a 
lamb  and  a  cross.     Her  husband  lies  next  in  the 
range.     The  three  graves  have  just  been  shorn 
of  their  tall  grass,  -—in  this  other  view  you  may 
see  them  half  hidden  by  it.     A  few  flowering 
stems  have  escaped  the  scythe  in  the  first  pic 
ture,  and  nestle  close  against  the  poet's  head 
stone.     Hard  by  sleeps  poor  Hartley  Coleridge, 
with  a  slab  of  freestone  graven  with  a  cross  and 


AND  SUN-SCULPTURE.  201 

a  crown  of  thorns,  and  the  legend,  "By  thy 
Cross  and  Passion,  Good  Lord,  deliver  us."* 
All  around  are  the  graves  of  those  whose  names 
the  world  has  not  known.  This  view  (302), 
from  above  Rydal  Mount,  is  so  Claude-like,  es 
pecially  in  its  trees,  that  one  wants  the  solemn 
testimony  of  the  double-picture  to  believe  it  an 
actual  transcript  of  Nature.  Of  the  other  Eng 
lish  landscapes  we  have  seen,  one  of  the  most 
pleasing  on  the  whole  is  that  marked  43, — 
Sweden  Bridge,  near  Ambleside.  But  do  not 
fail  to  notice  St.  Mary's  Church  (101)  in  the 
same  mountain-village.  It  grows  out  of  the 
ground  like  a  crystal,  with  spur-like  gables  bud 
ding  out  all  the  way  up  its  spire,  as  if  they  were 
ready  to  flower  into  pinnacles,  like  such  as  have 
sprung  up  all  over  the  marble  multiflora  of 
Milan. 

And  as  we  have  been  looking  at  a  steeple,  let 
us  flit  away  for  a  moment  and  pay  our  rever- 

*  Miss  Martineau,  who  -went  to  his  funeral,  and  may  be  sup 
posed  to  describe  after  a  visit  to  the  churchyard,  gives  the 
inscription    incorrectly.      See  Atlantic  Montlily  for  M^y,  1861, 
p.  652.    Tourists  cannot  be  trusted;  stereographs  can. 
9* 


202  SUN-PAINTING 

ence  at  the  foot  of  the  tallest  spire  in  England,— 
that  of  Salisbury  Cathedral.      Here  we  see'  it 
from    below,    looking    up,  — one  of   the    most 
striking  pictures  ever  taken.     Look  well  at  it ; 
Chichester  has  just   fallen,  and  this  is  a  good 
deal  like  it,  — some  have  thought  raised  by  the 
same  builder.     It  has  bent  somewhat   (as  you 
may  see  in  these  other  views)  from  the  perpen 
dicular ;  and  though  it  has   been   strengthened 
with  clamps  and  framework,  it  must  crash  some 
day  or  other,  for  there  has  been  a  great  giant 
tugging  at  it  day  and  night  for  five  hundred 
years,  and  it  wiU  at  last  shut  up  into  itself  or 
topple  over  with  a  sound  and  thrill  that  will 
make   the   dead  knights  and  bishops  shake  on 
their  stone  couches,  and  be  remembered  all  their 
days    by   year-old   children.     This    is    the  first 
cathedral  we  ever  saw,  and  none  ever  so  im 
pressed  us  since.     Vast,  simple,  awful  in  dimen 
sions  and  height,  just  beginning  to  grow  tall  at 
the  point  where  our  proudest  steeples  taper  out, 
it  fills  the  whole  soul,  pervades  the  vast  land 
scape  pver  which  it  reigns,  and,   like  Niagara 
and  the   Alps,   abolishes   that  five  or  six  foot 


AND  SUN-SCULPTURE.  203 

personality  in  the  beholder  which  is  fostered  by 
keeping  company  with  the  little  life  of  the  day 
in  its  little  dwellings.  In  the  Alps  your  voice 
is  as  the  piping  of  a  cricket.  Under  the  sheet 
of  Niagara  the  beating  of  your  heart  seems  too 
trivial  a  movement  to  take  reckoning  of.  In 
the  buttressed  hollow  of  one  of  these  palaeozoic 
cathedrals  you  are  ashamed  of  your  ribs,  and 
blush  for  the  exiguous  pillars  of  bone  on  which 
your  breathing  structure  reposes.  Before  we 
leave  Salisbury,  let  us  Jook  for  a  moment  into 
its  cloisters.  A  green  court-yard,  with  a  cov 
ered  gallery  on  its  level,  opening  upon  it  through 
a  series  of  Gothic  arches.  You  may  learn 
more,  young  American,  of  the  difference  be 
tween  your  civilization  and  that  of  the  Old 
World  by  one  look  at  this  than  from  an  average 
lyceum-lecture  an  hour  long.  Seventy  years  of 
life  means  a  great  deal  to  you ;  how  little,  com 
paratively,  to  the  dweller  in  these  cloisters  I 
You  will  have  seen  a  city  grow  up  about  you, 
perhaps  ;  your  whole  world  will  have  been 
changed  half  a  dozen  times  over.  What  change 
for  him?  The  cloisters  are  just  as  when  he 


204  SUN-PAINTING 

entered  them, — just  as  they  were  a  hundred 
years  ago,  — just  as  they  will  be  a  hundred 
years  hence. 

These  old  cathedrals  are  beyond  all  compari 
son  what  are  best  worth  seeing,  of  man's  handi 
work,  in  Europe.     How  great  the  delight  to  be 
able  to  bring  them,  bodily,  as  it  were,  to  our 
own  firesides  !     A  hundred  thousand  pilgrims  a 
year  used  to  visit  Canterbury.      Now   Canter 
bury  visits  us.     See  that  small  white  mark  on 
the  pavement.     That  marks  the  place  where  the 
slice  of  Thomas  a  Becket's  skull  fell  when  Reg 
inald  Fitz  Urse  struck  it  off  with  a  "  Ha  !  "  that 
seems  to  echo  yet  through  the  vaulted  arches. 
And  see  the  broad  stairs,  worn  by  the  pilgrim's 
knees  as  they  climbed   to  the  martyr's  shrine. 
For  four  hundred  years  this  stream  of  worship 
pers  was  wearing  itself  into  these  stones.     But 
there  was  the  place  where  they  knelt  before  the 
altar  called  "  Becket's  Crown."     No  !  the  story 
that  those  deep  hollows  in  the  marble  were  made 
by  the  pilgrims'  knees  is  too  much  to  believe,  — 
but  there  are  the  hollows  and  that  is  the  story. 
And  now,  if  you  would  see  a  perfect  gem  of 


AND  SUN-SCULPTURE.  205 

the  art  of  photography,  and  at  the  same  time  an 
unquestioned  monument  of  antiquity  which  no 
person  can  behold  without  interest,  look  upon 
this,  —  the  monument  of  the  Black  Prince. 
There  is  hardly  a  better  piece  of  work  to  be 
found.  His  marble  effigy  lies  within  a  railing, 
with  a  sculptured  canopy  hung  over  it,  like  a 
sounding-board.  Above  this,  on  a  beam  stretched 
between  two  pillars,  hang  the  arms  he  wore  at 
the  battle  of  Poitiers,  —  the  tabard,  the  shield, 
the  helmet,  the  gauntlets,  and  the  sheath  that 
held  his  sword,  which  weapon  it  is  said  that 

Cromwell  carried   off.     The  outside   casing  of 

t 

the  shield  has  broken  away,  as  you  observe,  but 
the  lions  or  lizards,  or  whatever  they  were 
meant  for,  and  the  flower-de-luces  or  plumes, 
may  still  be  seen.  The  metallic  scales,  if  such 
they  were,  have  partially  fallen  from  the  tab 
ard  or  frock,  and  the  leather  shows  bare  in 
parts  of  it. 

Here,  hard  by,  is  the  sarcophagus  of  Henry 
IV.  and  his  queen,  also  enclosed  with  a  railing 
like  the  other.  It  was  opened  about  thirty 
years  ago  in  presence  of  the  dean  of  the  cathe- 


206  SUN-PAINTING 

dral.  There  was  a  doubt,  so  it  is  said,  as  to 
the  monarch's  body  having  been  really  buried 
there.  Curiosity  had  nothing  to  do  with  it,  it 
is  to  be  presumed.  Every  over-ground  sar 
cophagus  is  opened  sooner  or  later,  as  a  matter 
of  course.  It  was  hard  work  to  get  it  open  ; 
it  had  to  be  sawed.  They  found  a  quantity  of 
hay,  —  fresh  herbage,  perhaps,  when  it  was  laid 

upon  the  royal  body  four  hundred  years  ago, 

and  a  cross  of  twigs.  A  silken  mask  was  on 
the  face.  They  raised  it,  and  saw  his  red  beard, 
his  features  well  preserved,  a  gap  in  the  front 
teeth,  which  there  was  probably  no  court-dentist 
to  supply,  —  the  same  face  the  citizens  looked 
on  four  centuries  ago 

"  In  London  streets  that  coronation-day, 
When  Bolingbroke  rode  on  roan  Barbary  " ; 

then  they  covered  him  up  to  take  another  nap 
of  a  few  centuries,  until  another*  dean  has  an 
historical  doubt,  —  at  last,  perhaps,  to  be  trans 
ported  by  some  future  Australian  Barnum  to 
the  Sidney  Museum  and  exhibited  as  the  mum 
my  of  one  of  the  English  Pharaohs.  Look, 
too,  at  the  "  Warrior's  Chapel,"  in  the  same 


AND  SUN-SCULPTURE.  207 

cathedral.  It  is  a  very  beautiful  stereograph, 
and  may  be  studied  for  a  long  time,  for  it  is  full 
of  the  most  curious  monuments. 

Before  leaving  these  English  churches  and 
monuments  let  us  enter,  if  but  for  a  moment, 
the  famous  Beauchamp  Chapel  at  Warwick. 
The  finest  of  the  views  (323,  324)  recalls  that 
of  the  Black  Prince's  tomb,  as  a  triumph  of 
photography.  Thus,  while  the  whole  effect 
of  the  picture  is  brilliant  and  harmonious,  we 
shall  find,  on  taking  a  lens,  that  we  can  count 
every  individual  bead  in  the  chaplet  of  the 
monk  who  is  one  of  the  more  conspicuous  re 
liefs  on  the  sarcophagus.  The  figure  of  this  monk 
itself  is  about  half  an  inch  in  height,  and  its 
face  may  be  completely  hidden  by  the  head  of  a 
pin.  The  whole  chapel  is  a  marvel  of  work 
manship  and  beauty.  The  monument  of  Rich 
ard  Beauchamp  in  the  centre,  with  the  frame 
of  brass  over  the  recumbent  figure,  intended  to 
support  the  drapery  thrown  upon  it  to  protect 
the  statue,  —  with  the  mailed  shape  of  the 
warrior,  his  feet  in  long  pointed  shoes  resting 
against  the  muzzled  bear  and  the  griffin,  his 


208  SUN-PAINTING 

hands  raised,  but  not  joined,  —  this  monument, 
with  the  tomb  of  Dudley,  Earl  of  Leicester,  — 
Elizabeth's  Leicester,  —  and  that  of  the  other 
Dudley,  Earl  of  Warwick,  —  all  enchased  in 
these  sculptured  walls,  and  illuminated  through 
that  pictured  window,  where  we  can  dimly  see 
the  outlines  of  saints  and  holy  maidens,  —  form 
a  group  of  monumental  jewels  such  as  only 
Henry  VII.'s  Chapel  can  equal.  For  these  two 
pictures  (323  and  324)  let  the  poor  student 
pawn  his  outside  coat,  if  he  cannot  have  them 
otherwise. 

Of  abbeys  and  castles  there  is  no  end.  No. 
4,  Tintern  Abbey,  is  the  finest,  on  the  whole, 
we  have  ever  seen.  No.  2  is  also  very  perfect 
and  interesting.  In  both,  the  masses  of  ivy 
that  clothe  the  ruins  are  given  with  wonderful 
truth  and  effect.  Some  of  these  views  have  the 
advantage  of  being  very  well  colored.  War 
wick  Castle  (81)  is  one  of  the  best  and  most 
interesting  of  the  series  of  castles ;  Caernarvon 
is  another  still  more  striking. 

We  may  as  well  break  off  here  as  anywhere, 
so  far  as  England  is  concerned.  England  is 


AND  SUN-SCULPTURE.  209 

one  great  burial-ground  to  an  American.  As 
islands  are  built  up  out  of  the  shields  of  insects, 
so  her  soil  is  made  from  the  bones  of  her  in 
numerable  generations.  No  one  but  a  travelled 
American  feels  what  it  is  to  live  in  a  land  of 
monuments.  We  are  all  born  foundlings,  ex 
cept  here  and  there,  in  some  favored  spot, 
where  humanity  has  nestled  for  a  century  or 
two.  Cut  flowers  of  romance  and  poetry  stuck 
about  are  poor  substitutes  for  the  growths  which 
have  their  roots  in  an  old  soil  that  has  been 
changing  elements  with  men  and  women  like 
ourselves  for  thousands  of  years.  Perhaps  it  is 
well  that  we  should  be  forced  to  live  mainly 
for  the  future ;  but  it  is  sometimes  weary  and 
prosaic. 

And  yet,  —  open  this  enchanted  door  (of 
pasteboard)  which  is  the  entrance  to  the  land 
of  BURNS,  and  see  what  one  man  can  do  to 
idealize  and  glorify  the  common  life  about  him  ! 
Here  is  a  poor  "  ten-footer,"  as  we  should  call 
it,  the  cottage  William  u  Burness  "  built  with  his 
own  hands,  where  he  carried  his  young  bride 
Agnes,  and  where  the  boy  ROBERT,  his  first- 


210  SUN-PAINTING 

born,  was  given  to  the  light  and  air  which  he 
made  brighter  and  freer  for  mankind.     Sit  still 
and  do  not  speak,  — but  see  that  your  eyes  do 
not   grow    dim   as   these    pictures   pass   before 
them:    The  old  hawthorn  under  which  Burns 
sat  with  Highland  Mary,  — a  venerable  duenna- 
like  tree,  with  thin  arms  and  sharp  elbows,  and 
scanty  chevelure  of  leaves;  the   Auld  Brig  o' 
Doon  (No.  4),  — a  daring  arch  that  leaps  the 
sweet  stream  at  a  bound,  more  than  half  clad  in 
a  mantle  of  ivy,  which  has  crept  with  its  larva- 
like  feet  beyond  the  key-stone ;  the  Twa  Brigs 
of  Ayr,  with  the  beautiful  reflections   in   the 
stream  that  shines  under  their  eyebrow-arches  ; 
and  poor  little  Alloway  Kirk,   with  its  fallen 
roof  and  high  gables.     Lift  your  hand  to  your 
eyes  and  draw  a  long  breath,  — for  what  words 
would  come  so  near  to  us  as  these  pictured,  nay, 
real,  memories  of  the   dead  poet  who  made  a 
nation  of  a  province,  and  the  hearts  of  mankind 
its  tributaries. 

And  so  we  pass  to  many-towered  and  turret- 
ed  and  pinnacled  Abbotsford,  and  to  large- 
windowed  Melrose,  and  to  peaceful  Dryburgh, 


AND  SUN-SCULPTURE.  211 

where,  under  a  plain  bevelled  slab,  lies  the  great 
Romancer  whom  Scotland  holds  only  second  in 
her  affections  to  her  great  poet.  Here  in  die 
foreground  of  the  Melrose  Abbey  vie^v  (436)  is 
a  gravestone  wlu'ch  looks  as  if  it  might  be  de 
ciphered  with  a  lens.  Let  us  draw  out  this 
inscription  from  the  black  archives  of  oblivion. 
Here  it  is  :  — 

In  Memory  of 

Francis  Cornel,  late 

Labourer  in  Greenwell, 

Who  died  11**  July,  1827, 

aged  89  years.    Also 

Margaret  Betty,  his 

Spouse,  who  died  2d  Dec*, 

1831,  aged  89  years. 

This  is  one  charm,  as  we  have  said  over  and 
over,  of  the  truth-telling  photograph.  We  who 
write  in  great  magazines  of  course  float  off  from 
the  wreck  of  our  century,  on  our  life-preserving 
articles,  to  immortality.  What  a  delight  it  is  to 
snatch  at  the  unknown  head  that'  shows  for  an 
instant  through  the  wave,  and  drag  it  out  to 
personal  recognition  and  a  share  in  our  own 
sempiternal  buoyancy !  Go  and  be  photo- 


212  S  UN-PA  IN  TING 

graphed  on  the  edge  of  Niagara,  O  unknown 
aspirant  for  human  remembrance !  Do  not 
throw  yourself,  O  traveller,  into  Etna,  like  Em- 
pedocles.^  but  be  taken  by  the  camera  standing 
on  the  edge  of  the  crater !  Who  is  that  lady  in 
the  carriage  at  the  door  of  Burns's  cottage? 
Who  is  that  gentleman  in  the  shiny  hat  on  the 
sidewalk  in  front  of  the  Shakespeare  house? 
Who  are  those  two  fair  youths  lying  dead  on  a 
heap  of  dead  at  the  trench's  side  in  the  cemetery 
of  Melegnano,  in  that  ghastly  glass  stereograph 
in  our  friend  Dr.  Bigelow's  collection  ?  Some 
Austrian  mother  has  perhaps  seen  her  boy's 
features  in  one  of  those  still  faces.  All  these 
seemingly  accidental  figures  are  not  like  the 
shapes  put  in  by  artists  to  fill  the  blanks  in  their 
landscapes,  but  real  breathing  persons,  or  forms 
that  have  but  lately  been  breathing,  not  found 
there  by  chance,  but  brought  there  with  a  pur 
pose,  fulfilling  some  real  human  errand,  or  at 
least,  as  in  the  last-mentioned  picture,  waiting  to 
be  buried. 

Before  quitting  the  British  Islands,  it  would 
be  pleasant   to   wander   through   the   beautiful 


AND   SUN-SCULPTURE.  213 

Vale  of  Avoca  in  Ireland,  and  to  look  on 
those  many  exquisite  landscapes  and  old  ruins 
and  crosses  which  have  been  so  admirably  ren 
dered  in  the  stereograph.  There  is  the  Giant's 
Causeway,  too,  which  our  friend  Mr.  Waterston 
showed  us  in  his  Museum  of  Art  in  Chester 
Square  before  we  had  been  able  to  obtain  it. 
This  we  cannot  stop  to  look  at  now,  nor  these 
many  objects  of  historical  or  poetical  interest 
which  lie  before  us  on  our  own  table.  Such  are 
the  pictures  of  Croyland  Abbey,  where  they 
kept  that  jolly  drinking-horn  of  "  Witlaf,  King 
of  the  Saxons,"  which  Longfellow  has  made 
famous ;  Bedd-Gelert,  the  grave  of  the  faithful 
hound  immortalized  by — nay,  who  has  immor 
talized —  William  Spencer;  the  stone  that  marks 
the  spot  where  William  Rufus  fell  by  Tyrrel's 
shaft ;  the  Lion's  Head  in  Dove  Dale,  fit  to  be 
compared  with  our  own  Old  Man  of  the  Moun 
tain;  the  "  Bowder  Stone,"  or  the  great  boulder 
of  Borrowdale  ;  and  many  others  over  which 
we  love  to  dream  at  idle  moments. 

When   we  began   these   notes  of  travel   we 
meant  to  take  our  fellow-voyagers  over  the  con- 


214  SUN-PAINTING 

tinent  of  Europe,  and  perhaps  to  all  the  quarters 
of  the  globe.  We  should  make  a  book,  instead 
of  an  article,  if  we  attempted  it.  Let  us,  in 
stead  of  this,  devote  the  remaining  space  to  an 
enumeration  of  a  few  of  the  most  interesting 

o 

pictures  we  have  met  with,  many  of  which  may 
be  easily  obtained  by  those  who  will  take  the 
trouble  we  have  taken  to  find  them. 

Views  of  Paris  are  everywhere  to  be  had, 
good  and  cheap.  The  finest  illuminated  or 
transparent  paper  view  we  have  ever  seen  is 
one  of  the  Imperial  Throne.  There  is  another 
illuminated  view,  the  Palace  of  the  Senate, 
remarkable  for  the  beauty  with  which  it  gives 
the  frescoes  on  the  cupola.  We  have  a  most 
interesting  stereograph  of  the  Amphitheatre  of 
Nismes,  with  a  bull-fight  going  on  in  its  arena 
at  the  time  when  the  picture  was  taken.  The 
contrast  of  the  vast  Roman  structure,  with  its 
massive  arched  masonry,  and  the  scattered 
assembly,  which  seems  almost  lost  in  the  spaces 
once  filled  by  the  crowd  of  spectators  who 
thronged  to  the  gladiatorial  shows,  is  one  of  the 
most  striking  we  have  ever  seen.  At  Quim- 


AND  SUN-SCULPTURE.  215 

perle  is  a  house  so  like  the  curious  old  building 
lately  removed  from  Dock  Square  in  Boston, 
that  it  is  commonly  taken  for  it  at  the  first  view. 
The  Roman  tombs  at  Aries  and  the  quaint 
streets  at  Troyes  are  the  only  other  French  pic 
tures  we  shall  speak  of,  apart  from  the  cathedrals 
to  be  mentioned. 

Of  the  views  in  Switzerland,  it  may  be  said 
that  the  Glaciers  are  perfect,  in  the  glass  pic 
tures,  at  least.  Waterfalls  are  commonly  poor  : 
the  water  glares  and  looks  like  cotton-wool. 
Staubbach,  with  the  Vale  of  Lauterbrunnen,  is 
an  exquisite  exception.  Here  are  a  few  signal 
specimens  of  Art.  No.  4018,  Seelisberg,  —  un 
surpassed  by  any  glass  stereograph  we  have  ever 
seen  in  all  the  qualities  that  make  a  faultless 
picture.  No.  4119,  Mont  Blanc  from  Sta.  Rosa, 
—  the  finest  view  of  the  mountain  for  general 
effect  we  have  met  with.  No.  4100,  Suspension- 
Bridge  of  Fribourg,  —  very  fine,  but  makes  one 
giddy  to  look  at  it.  Three  different  views  of 
Goldau,  where  the  villages  lie  buried  under  these 
vast  masses  of  rock,  recall  the  terrible  catastro 
phe  of  1806,  as  if  it  had  happened  but  yesterday. 


216  SUN-PAINTING 

Almost  everything  from  Italy  is  interesting. 
The  ruins  of  Rome,  the  statues  of  the  Vatican, 
the  great  churches,  all  pass  before  us,  but  in  a 
flash,  as  we  are  expressed  by  them  on  our  ideal 
locomotive.  Observe :  next  to  snow  and  ice, 
stone  is  best  rendered  in  the  stereograph.  Stat 
ues  are  given  absolutely  well,  except  where 
there  is  much  foreshortening  to  be  done,  as  in 
this  of  the  Torso,  where  you  see  the  thigh  is 
unnaturally  lengthened.  See  the  mark  on  the 
Dying  Gladiator's  nose.  That  is  where  Mi 
chel  Angelo  mended  it.  There  is  Hawthorne's 
Marble  Faun  (the  one  called  of  Praxiteles), 
the  Laocoon,  the  Apollo  Belvedere,  the  Young 
Athlete  with  the  Strigil,  the  Forum,  the  Cloaca 
Maxima,  the  Palace  of  the  Caesars,  the  bronze 
Marcus  Aurelius,  —  those  wonders  all  the  world 
flocks  to  see,  —  the  God  of  Light  has  multiplied 
them  all  for  you,  and  you  have  only  to  give  a 
paltry  fee  to  his  servant  to  own  in  fee-simple 
the  best  sights  that  earth  has  to  show. 

But  look  in  at  Pisa  one  moment,  not  for  the 
Leaning  Tower  and  the  other  familiar  objects, 
but  for  the  interior  of  the  Campo  Santo,  with  its 


AND  SUN-SCULPTURE.  217 

holy  earth,  its  innumerable  monuments,  and  the 
fading  frescos   on   its   walls,  —  see  !     there    are 
the  Three    Kings    of  Andrea   Orgagna.     And 
there  hang  the  broken  chains  that  once,  centu 
ries  ago,  crossed  the  Arno,  —  standing  off  from 
the  wall,  so  that  it  seems  as  if  they  might  clank, 
if  you  jarred  the  stereoscope.    Tread  with  us  the 
streets  of  Pompeii  for  a  moment ;  there  are  the 
ruts  made  by  the  chariots  of  eighteen  hundred 
years    ago,  —  it  is  the  same   thing  as  stooping 
down  and  looking  at  the  pavement  itself.     And 
here  is  the  amphitheatre  out  of  which  the  Pom- 
peians    trooped   when  the    ashes  began    to  fall 
round   them    from   Vesuvius.     Behold    the    fa 
mous  gates   of  the  Baptistery  at    Florence, — 
but  do  not  overlook  the  exquisite  iron  gates  of 
the  railing  outside  ;  think  of  them  as  you  enter 
our  own  Common  in  Boston  from  West  Street, 
through  those  portals  which  are  fit  for  the  gates 
of — not  paradise.     Look  at  this  sugar-temple, 
—  no,  it  is  of  marble,  and  is  the  monument  of 
one  of  the  Scalas  at  Verona.     What  a  place  for 
ghosts  that  vast  palazzo  behind  it !    Shall   we 
stand  in  Venice  on  the  Bridge  of  Sighs,   and 


10 


218  SUN-PAINTING 

then  take  this  stereoscopic  gondola  and  go 
through  it  from  St.  Mark's  to  the  Arsenal? 
Not  now.  We  will  only  look  at  the  Cathedral, 
—  all  the  pictures  under  the  arches  show  in  our 
glass  stereograph,  —  at  the  Bronze  Horses,  the 
Campanile,  the  Rialto,  and  that  glorious  old 
statue  of  Bartholomew  Colleoni,  —  the  very 
image  of  what  a  partisan  leader  should  be,  the 
broad-shouldered,  slender-waisted,  stern-featured 
old  soldier  who  used  to  leap  into  his  saddle  in 
full  armor,  and  whose  men  would  never  follow 
another  leader  when  he  died.  Well,  but  there 
have  been  soldiers  in  Italy  since  his  day.  Here 
are  the  encampments  of  Napoleon's  army  in  the 
recent  campaign.  This  is  the  battle-field  of 
Magenta  with  its  trampled  grass  and  splintered 
trees,  and  the  fragments  of  soldiers'  accoutre 
ments  lying  about. 

And  here  (leaving  our  own  collection  for  our 
friend's  before-mentioned)  here  is  the  great 
trench  in  the  cemetery  of  Melegnano,  and  the 
heap  of  dead  lying  unburied  at  its  edge.  Look 
away,  young  maiden  and  tender  child,  for  this  is 
what  war  leaves  after  it.  Flung  together,  like 


AND  SUN-SCULPTURE.  219 

sacks  of  grain,  some  terribly  mutilated,  some 
without  mark  of  injury,  all  or  almost  all  with  a 
still,  calm  look  on  their  faces.  The  two  youths 
before  referred  to  lie  in  the  foreground,  so  sim 
ple-looking,  so  like  boys  who  had  been  over 
worked  and'were  lying  down  to  sleep,  that  one 
can  hardly  see  the  picture  for  the  tears  these 
two  fair  striplings  bring  into  the  eyes. 

The  Pope  must  bless  us  before  we  leave 
Italy.  See,  there  he  stands  on  the  balcony  of 
St.  Peter's,  and  a  vast  crowd  before  him  with 
uncovered  heads  as  he  stretches  his  arms  and 
pronounces  his  benediction. 

Before  entering  Spain  we  must  look  at  the 
Circus  of  Gavarni,  a  natural  amphitheatre  in 
the  Pyrenees.  It  is  the  most  picturesque  of 
stereographs,  and  one  of  the  best.  As  for  the 
Alhambra,  we  can  show  that  in  every  aspect; 
and  if  you  do  not  vote  the  lions  in  the  court  of 
the  same  a  set  of  mechanical  h****gs  and  nurs 
ery  bugaboos,  we  have  no  skill  in  entomology. 
But  the  Giralda,  at  Seville,  is  really  a  grand 
tower,  worth  looking  at.  The  Seville  Boston- 
folks  consider  it  the  linchpin,  at  least  of  this 


220  SUN-PAINTING 

rolling  universe.  And  what  a  fountain  this  is 
in  the  Infanta's  garden!  what  shameful  beasts, 
swine  and  others,'  lying  about  on  their  stomachs ! 
the  whole  surmounted  by  an  unclad  gentleman 
squeezing  another  into  the  convulsions  of  a  eal- 

O 

vanized  frog!  Queer  tastes  they  have  in  the 
Old  World.  At  the  fountain  of  the  Ogre  in 
Berne,  the  giant,  or  large-mouthed  private  per 
son,  upon  the  top  of  the  column,  is  eating  a 
little  infant  as  one  eats  a  radish,  and  has  plenty 
more,  —  a  whole  bunch  of  such,  —  in  -his  hand, 
or  about  him. 

A  voyage  down  the  Rhine  shows  us  nothino- 

^ 

better  than  St.  Goar  (No.  2257),  every  house 
on  each  bank  clean  and  clear  as  a  crystal.  The 
Heidelberg  views  are  admirable;  —  you  see  a 
slight  streak  in  the  background  of  this  one :  we 
remember  seeing  just  such  a  streak  from  the 
castle  itself,  and  being  told  that  it  was  the 
Rhine,  just  visible,  afar  off.  The  man  with  the 
geese  in  the  goose-market  at  Nuremberg  gives 
stone,  iron,  and  bronze,  each  in  perfection. 

So  we  come  to  quaint  Holland,  where  we  see 
wind-mills,  ponts-levis,    canals,    galiots,    houses 


AND  SUN-SCULPTURE.  221 

with  gable-ends  to  the  streets  and  little  mirrors 
outside  the  windows,  slanted  so  as  to  show  the 
frows  inside  what  is  going  on. 

We  must  give  up  the  cathedrals,  after  all: 
Santa  Maria  del  Fiore,  with  Brunelleschfs 
dome,  which  Michel  Angelo  would  n't  copy 
and  could  n't  beat ;  Milan,  aflame  with  statues, 
like  a  thousand-tapered  candelabrum ;  Tours, 
with  its  embroidered  portal,  so  like  the  lace  of 
an  archbishop's  robe ;  even  Notre  Dame  of 
Paris,  with  its  new  spire;  Rouen,  Amiens, 
Chartres, — we  must  give  them  all  up. 

Here  we  are  at  Athens,  looking  at  the  but 
tressed  Acropolis  and  the  ruined  temples,  —  the 
Doric  Parthenon,  the  Ionic  Erechtheum,  the 
Corinthian  temple  of  Jupiter,  and  the  beautiful 
Caryatides.  But  see  those  steps  cut  in  the  nat 
ural  rock.  Up  those  steps  walked  the  Apostle 
Paul,  and  from  that  summit,  Mars  Hill,  the 
Areopagus,  he  began  his  noble  address,  "  Ye 
men  of  Athens  !  " 

The  Great  Pyramid  and  the  Sphinx !  Herod 
otus  saw  them  a  little  fresher,  but  of  unknown 
antiquity,  —  far  more  unknown  to  him  than  to 


222  SUN-PAINTING 

us.  The  Colossi  of  the  plain  !  Mighty  mon 
uments  of  an  ancient  and  proud  civilization 
standing  alone  in  a  desert  now. 

My  name  is  Osymandyas,  King  of  Kings  : 
Look  on  my  works,  ye  mighty,  and  despair! 

But  nothing  equals  these  vast  serene  faces  of 
the  Pharaohs  on  the  great  rock-temple  of  Abou 
Simbel  (Ipsambul)  (No.  1,  F.  SOT).  It  is  the 
sublimest  of  stereographs,  as  the  temple  of  Kar- 
dasay,  this  loveliest  of  views  on  glass,  is  the 
most  poetical.  But  here  is  the  crocodile  lying 
in  wait  for  us  on  the  sandy  bank  of  the  Nile, 
and  we  must  leave  Egypt  for  Syria. 

Damascus  makes  but  a  poor  show,  with  its 
squalid  houses,  and  glaring  clayed  roofs.  We 
always  wanted  to  invest  in  real  estate  there  in 
Abraham  Street  or  Noah  Place,  or  some  of  its 
well-established  thoroughfares,  but  are  discour 
aged  since  we  have  had  these  views  of  the  old 
town.  Baalbec  does  better.  See  the  great 
stones  built  into  the  wall  there,  —  the  biggest 
64  X  13  X  13  !  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  — 
a  single  stone  bigger  than  both  your  parlors 
thrown  into  one,  and  this  one  of  three  almost 


AND  SUN-SCULPTURE.  223 

alike,  built  into  a  wall  as  if  just  because  they 
happened  to  be  lying  round,  handy  !  So,  then, 
we  pass  on  to  Bethlehem,  looking  like  a  fortress 
more  than  a  town,  all  stone  and  very  little  win 
dow,  —  to  Nazareth,  with  its  brick,  oven-like 
houses,  its  tall  minaret,  its  cypresses,  and  the 
black-mouthed,  open  tombs,  with  masses  of  cac 
tus  growing  at  their  edge,  —  to  Jerusalem,  —  to 
the  Jordan,  every  drop  of  whose  waters  seems 
to  carry  a  baptismal  blessing,  —  to  the  Dead 
Sea,  —  and  to  the  Cedars  of  Lebanon.  Almost 
everything  may  have  changed  in  these  hallowed 
places,  except  the  face  of  the  stream  and  the 
lake,  and  the  outlines  of  hill  and  valley.  But  as 
we  look  across  the  city  to  the  Mount  of  Olives, 
we  know  that  these  lines  which  run  in  graceful 
curves  along  the  horizon  are  the  same  that  He 
looked  upon  as  he  turned  his  eyes  sadly  over 
Jerusalem.  We  know  that  these  long  declivi 
ties,  beyond  Nazareth,  were  pictured  in  the  eyes 
of  Mary's  growing  boy  just  as  they  are  now 
ours  sitting  here  by  our  own  firesides. 

This  is  no  toy,  which  thus  carries  us  into  the 


224  SUN-PAINTING 

very  presence  of  all  that  is  most  inspiring  to  the 
soul  in  the  scenes  which  the  world's  heroes  and 
martyrs,  and  more  than  heroes,  more  than  mar 
tyrs,  have  hallowed  and  solemnized  by  looking 
upon.     It  is  no  toy :  it  is  a  divine  gift,  placed  in 
our  hands  nominally  by  science,  really  by  that 
inspiration    which    is    revealing   the   Almighty 
through   the   lips    of    the    humble   student  of 
Nature.     Look    through   it    once   more   before 
laying  it  down,  but  not  at  any  earthly  sight.    In 
these  views,  taken  through  the  telescopes  of  De 
la  Rue  of  London  and   of  Mr.  Rutherford  of 
New  York,  and  that  of  the  Cambridge  Observa 
tory  by  Mr.  Whipple    of  Boston,  we  see   the 
"spotty  globe  "  of  the  moon  with  all  its  moun 
tains  and    chasms,   its    mysterious    craters   and 
groove-like   valleys.     This    magnificent   stereo 
graph  by  Mr.  Whipple  was  taken,  the  first  pic 
ture  February  7th,  the  second  April   6th.    In 
this  way  the  change  of  position  gives  the  solid 
effect  of  the  ordinary  stereoscopic  views,  and  the 
sphere  rounds  itself  out  so  perfectly  to  the  eye 
that  it  seems  as  if  we  could  grasp  it  like  an 
orange. 


AND  SUN-SCULPTURE.  225 

If  the  reader  is  interested,  or  like  to  become 
interested,  in  the  subject  of  sun-sculpture  and 
stereoscopes,  he  may  like  to  know  what  the  last 
two  years  have  taught  us  as  to  the  particular 
instruments  best  worth  owning.  We  will  give 
a  few  words  to  the  subject.  Of  simple  instru 
ments,  for  looking  at  one  slide  at  a  time,  Smith 
and  Beck's  is  the  most  perfect  we  have  seen, 
but  the  most  expensive.  For  looking  at  paper 
slides,  which  are  light,  an  instrument  which 
may  be  held  in  the  hand  is  very  convenient. 
We  have  had  one  constructed  which  is  better, 
as  we  think,  than  any  in  the  shops.  Mr.  Joseph 
L.  Bates,  129  Washington  Street,  has  one  of 
them,  if  any  person  is  curious  to  see  it.  In 
buying  the  instruments  which  hold  many  slides, 
we  should  prefer  two  that  hold  fifty  to  one  that 
holds  a  hundred.  Becker's  small  instrument, 
containing  fifty  paper  slides,  back  to  back,  is  the 
one  we  like  best  for  these  slides,  but  the  top 
should  be  arranged  so  as  to  come  off,  —  the  first 
change  we  made  in  our  own  after  procuring  it. 

We  are  allowed  to  mention  the  remarkable 
instrument  contrived  by  our  friend  Dr.  H.  J. 
10* 


226  SUN-PAINTING 

Bigelow,  for  holding  fifty  glass  slides.  The 
spectator  looks  in  :  all  is  darkness.  He  turns  a 
crank  :  the  gray  dawn  of  morning  steals  over 
some  beautiful  scene,  or  the  facade  of  a  stately 
temple.  Still,  as  he  turns,  the  morning  bright 
ens  through  various  tints  of  rose  and  purple, 
until  it  reaches  the  golden  richness  of  high 
noon.  Still  turning,  all  at  once  night  shuts 
down  upon  the  picture  as  at  a  tropical  sunset, 
suddenly,  without  blur  or  gradual  dimness, — 
the  sun  of  the  picture  going  down, 

"  Not  as  in  Northern  climes  obscurely  bright, 
But  one  unclouded  blaze  of  living  light." 

We  have  not  thanked  the  many  friendly 
dealers  in  these  pictures,  who  have  sent  us 
heaps  and  hundreds  of  stereographs  to  look  over 
and  select  from,  only  because  they  are  too  many 
to  thank.  Nor  do  we  place  any  price  on  this 
advertisement  of  their  most  interesting  branch 
of  business.  But  there  are  a  few  stereographs 
we  wish  some  of  them  would  send  us,  with  the 
bill  for  the  same  ;  such  as  Antwerp  and  Stras 
bourg  Cathedrals,  —  Bologna,  with  its  brick 
towers,  —  the  Lions  of  MycenaB,  if  they  are  to 


AND  SUN-SCULPTURE.  227 

be  had,  —  the  Walls  of  Fiesole,  —  the  Golden 
Candlestick  in  the  Arch  of  Titus,  —  and  others 
which  we  can  mention,  if  consulted  ;  some  of 
which  we  have  hunted  for  a  long  time  in  vain. 
But  we  write  principally  to  wake  up  an  interest 
in  a  new  and  inexhaustible  source  of  pleasure, 
and  only  regret  that  the  many  pages  we  have 
filled  can  do  no  more  than  hint  the  infinite 
resources  which  the  new  art  has  laid  open 
to  us  all. 


DOINGS    OF   THE    SUNBEAM. 


FEW  of  those  who  seek  a  photographer's 
establishment  to  have  their  portraits  taken 
know  at  all  into  what  a  vast  branch  of  com 
merce  this  business  of  sun-picturing  has  grown. 
We  took  occasion  lately  to  visit  one  of  the 
principal  establishments  in  the  country,  that 
of  Messrs.  E.  &  H.  T.  Anthony,  in  Broad 
way,  New  York.  We  had  made  the  acquaint 
ance  of  these  gentlemen  through  the  remarka 
bly  instantaneous  stereoscopic  views  published 
by  them,  and  of  which  we  spoke  in  a  former 
article  in  terms  which  some  might  think  ex 
travagant.  Our  unsolicited  commendation  of 
these  marvellous  pictures  insured  us  a  more 
than  polite  reception.  Every  detail  of  the 
branches  of  the  photographic  business  to  which 
they  are  more  especially  devoted  was  freely 


DOINGS   OF  THE  SUNBEAM.          229 

shown  us,  and  "  No  Admittance "  over  the 
doors  of  their  inmost  sanctuaries  came  to  mean 
for  us,  "  Walk  in  ;  you  are  heartily  welcome." 
We  should  be  glad  to  tell  our  readers  of  all 
that  we  saw  in  the  two  establishments  of  theirs 
which  we  visited,  but  this  would  take  the  whole 
space  which  we  must  distribute  among  several 
subdivisions  of  a  subject  that  offers  many  points 
of  interest.  We  must  confine  ourselves  to  a 
few  glimpses  and  sketches. 

The  guests  of  the  neighboring  hotels,  as  they 
dally  with  their  morning's  omelet,  little  imagine 
what  varied  uses  come  out  of  the  shells  which 
furnished  them  their  anticipatory  repast  of  dis 
appointed  chickens.  If  they  had  visited  Mr. 
Anthony's  upper  rooms,  they  would  have  seen 
a  row  of  young  women  before  certain  broad, 
shallow  pans  filled  with  the  glairy  albumen 
which  once  enveloped  those  potential  fowls. 

The  one  next  us  takes  a  large  sheet  of  photo 
graphic  paper  (a  paper  made  in  Europe  for 
this  special  purpose,  very  thin,  smooth,  and 
compact),  and  floats  it  evenly  on  the  surface 


230          DOINGS   OF  THE  SUNBEAM. 

of  the  albumen.  Presently  she  lifts  it  very 
carefully  by  the  turned-up  corners  and  hangs 
it  6ms,  as  a  seamstress  might  say,  that  is,  cor- 
nerwise,  on  a  string,  to  dry.  This  "  albumen- 
ized  "  paper  is  sold  most  'extensively  to  photo 
graphers,  who  find  it  cheaper  to  buy  than 
to  prepare  it.  It  keeps  for  a  long  time  unin 
jured,  and  is  "  sensitized "  when  wanted,  as 
we  shall  see  by  and  by. 

The  amount  of  photographic  paper  which  is 
annually  imported  from  France  and  Germany 
has  been  estimated  at  fifteen  thousand  reams. 
Ten  thousand  native  partlets  — 

"  Sic  vos  non  vobis  nidificatis,  aves  "  — 

cackle  over  the  promise  of  their  inchoate  off 
spring,  doomed  to  perish  unfeathered,  before 
fate  has  decided  whether  they  shall  cluck  or 
crow,  for  the  sole  use  of  the  minions  of  the 
sun  and  the  feeders  of  the  caravanseras. 

In  another  portion  of  the  same  establishment 
are  great  collections  of  the  chemical  substances 
used  in  photography.  To  give  an  idea  of  the 
scale  on  which  these  are  required,  we  may 


DOINGS   OF   THE  SUNBEAM.          231 

state  that  the  estimate  of  the  annual  consump 
tion  of  the  precious  metals  for  photographic 
purposes,  in  this  country,  is  set  down  at  ten 
tons  for  silver  and  half  a  ton  for  gold.  Vast 
quantities  of  the  hyposulphite  of  soda,  which, 
we  shall  see,  plays  an  important  part  in  the 
process  of  preparing  the  negative  plate  and  fin 
ishing  the  positive  print,  are  also  demanded. 

In  another  building,  provided  with  steam- 
power,  which  performs  much  of  the  labor,  is 
carried  on  the  great  work  of  manufacturing 
photographic  albums,  cases  for  portraits,  parts 
of  cameras,  and  of  printing  pictures  from  neg 
atives.  Many  of  these  branches  of  work  are 
very  interesting.  The  luxurious  album,  em 
bossed,  clasped,  gilded,  resplendent  as  a  tropical 
butterfly,  goes  through  as  many  transformations 
as  a  "  purple  emperor.  "  It  begins  a  paste 
board  larva,  is  swathed  and  pressed  and  glued 
into  the  condition  of  a  chrysalis,  and  at  last 
alights  on  the  centre-table  gorgeous  in  gold  and 
velvet,  the  perfect  imago.  The  cases  for  por 
traits  are  made  in  lengths,  and  cut  up,  some 
what  as  they  say  ships  are  built  in  Maine,  a 


232          DOINGS   OF   THE  SUNBEAM. 

mile  at  a  time,  to  be  afterwards  sawed  across 
so  as  to  become  sloops,  schooners,  or  such  other 
sized  craft  as  may  happen  to  be  wanted. 

Each  single  process  in  the  manufacture  of 
elaborate  products  of  skill  oftentimes  seems  and 
is  very  simple.  The  workmen  in  large  estab 
lishments,  where  labor  is  greatly  subdivided,  be 
come  wonderfully  adroit  in  doing  a  fraction  of 
something.  They  always  remind  us  of  the  Chi 
nese  or  the  old  Egyptians.  A  young  person 
who  mounts  photographs  on  cards  all  day  long 
confessed  to  having  never,  or  almost  never,  seen 
a  negative  developed,  though  standing  at  the 
time  within  a  few  feet  of  the  dark  closet  where 
the  process  was  going  on  all  day  long.  On'e 
forlorn  individual  will  perhaps  pass  his  days  in 
the  single  work  of  cleaning  the  glass  plates  for 
negatives.  Almost  at  his  elbow  is  a  toning 
bath,  but  he  would  think  it  a  good  joke,  if  you 
asked  him  whether  a  picture  had  lain  long 
enough  in  the  solution  of  gold  or  hyposulphite. 

We  always  take  a  glance  at  the  literature 
which  is  certain  to  adorn  the  walls  in  the  neigh 
borhood  of  each  operative's  bench  or  place  for 


DOINGS  OF   THE  SUNBEAM.          233 

work.  Our  friends  in  the  manufactory  we  are 
speaking  of  were  not  wanting  in  this  respect. 
One  of  the  girls  had  pasted  on  the  wall  before 

her, 

"  Kind  words  can  never  die." 

It  would  not  have  been  easy  to  give  her  a  harsh 
one  after  reading  her  chosen  maxim.  "  The 
Moment  of  Parting  "  was  twice  noticed.  "  The 
Haunted  Spring,"  "  Dearest  May,"  "  The  Bony 
Boat,"  "Yankee  Girls,"  "Yankee  Ship  and 
Yankee  Crew,"  "My  Country, 'tis  of  thee," 
and  —  was  there  ever  anybody  that  ever  broke 
up  prose  into  lengths  who  would  not  look  to  see 
if  there  were  not  a  copy  of  some  performance 
of  his  own  on  the  wall  he  was  examining,  if  he 
were  exploring  the  inner  chamber  of  a  freshly 
opened  pyramid  ? 

We  left  the  great  manufacturing  establish 
ment  of  the  Messrs.  Anthony,  more  than  ever 
impressed  with  the  vast  accession  of  happiness 
conferred  upon  mankind  by  this  art,  which 
has  spread  itself  as  widely  as  civilization.  The 
photographer  can  procure  every  article  need 
ed  for  his  work  at  moderate  cost  and  in  quan- 


234          DOINGS   OF  THE  SUNBEAM. 

titles  suited  to  his  wants.  His  prices  have 
consequently  come  down  to  such  a  point  that 
pauperism  itself  need  hardly  shrink  from  the 
outlay  required  for  a  family  portrait-gallery. 
The  "tin-types,"  as  the  small  miniatures  are 
called,  —  stannotypes  would  be  the  proper 
name,  —  are  furnished  at  the  rate  of  two  cents 
each !  A  portrait  such  as  Isabey  could  not 
paint  for  a  Marshal  of  France,  a  likeness  such 
as  Malbone  could  not  make  of  a  President's 
lady,  to  be  had  for  two  coppers,  —  a  dozen 
chefs  d'oeuvre  for  a  quarter  of  a  dollar. 

We  had  been  for  a  long  time  meditating  a 
devotion  of  a  part  of  what  is  left  of  our  more 
or  less  youthful  energies  to  acquiring  practical 
knowledge  of  the  photographic  art.  The  auspi 
cious  moment  came  at  last,  and  we  entered 
ourselves  as  the  temporary  apprentice  of  Mr. 
J.  W.  Black  of  this  city,  well  known  as  a 
most  skilful  photographer  and  a  friendly  as 
sistant  of  beginners  in  the  art. 

We  consider  ourselves  at  this  present  time 
competent  to  set  up  a  photographic  ambulance 
or  to  hang  out  a  sign  in  any  modest  country 


DOINGS   OF   THE  SUNBEAM.          235 

town.  We  should,  no  dout)t,  over-time  and 
imder-tone,  and  otherwise  wrong  the  counte 
nances  of  some  of  our  sitters ;  but  we  should 
get  the  knack  in  a  week  or  two,  and  if 
Baron  Wenzel  owned  to  having  spoiled  a  hat 
ful  of  eyes  before  he  had  fairly  learned  how  to 
operate  for  cataract,  we  need  not  think  too 
much  of  libelling  a  few  village  physiognomies 
before  considering  ourselves  fit  to  take  the  min 
ister  and  his  deacons.  After  years  of  practice 
there  is  always  something  to  learn,  but  every 
one  is  surprised  to  find  how  little  time  is  re 
quired  for  the  acquisition  of  skill  enough  to 
make  a  passable  negative  and  print  a  tolerable 
picture.  We  could  not  help  learning,  with  the 
aid  that  was  afforded  us  by  Mr.  Black  and  his 
assistants,  who  were  all  so  very  courteous  and 
pleasant,  that,  as  a  token  of  gratitude,  we  offered 
to  take  photographs  of  any  of  them  who  would 
sit  to  us  for  that  purpose.  Every  stage  of  the 
process,  from  preparing  a  plate  to  mounting  a 
finished  sun-print,  we  have  taught  our  hands  to 
perform,  and  can  therefore  speak  with  a  certain 
authority  to  those  who  Wish  to  learn  the  way  of 
working  with  the  sunbeam. 


236          DOINGS   OF   THE  SUNBEAM. 

Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  the  process  of 
making  a  photographic  picture  is  detailed  in  a 
great  many  books,  —  nay,  although  we  have 
given  a  brief  account  of  the  principal  stages  of  it 
in  one  of  our  former  articles,  we  are  going  to 
take  the  reader  into  the  sanctuary  of  the  art 
with  us,  and  ask  him  to  assist,  in  the  French 
sense  of  the  word,  while  we  make  a  photograph, 
—  say,  rather,  while  the  mysterious  forces 
which  we  place  in  condition  to  act  work  that 
miracle  for  us. 

We  are  in  a  room  lighted  through  a  roof  of 
ground  glass,  its  walls  covered  with  blue  paper 
to  avoid  reflection.  A  camera  mounted  on  an 
adjustable  stand  is  before  us.  We  will  fasten 
this  picture,  which  we  are  going  to  copy,  against 
the  wall.  Now  we  will  place  the  camera  oppo 
site  to  it,  and  bring  it  into  focus  so  as  to  give  a 
clear  image  on  the  square  of  ground  glass  in  the 
interior  of  the  instrument.  If  the  image  is  too 
large,  we  push  the  camera  back ;  if  too  small, 
push  it  up  towards  the  picture  and  focus  again. 
The  image  is  wrong  side  up,  as  we  see ;  but  if 
we  take  the  trouble  to  reverse  the  picture  we 


DOINGS  OF  THE  SUNBEAM.          237 

are  copying,  it  will  appear  in  its  proper  position 
in  the  camera.  Having  got  an  image  of  the 
right  size,  and  perfectly  sharp,  »we  will  prepare 
a  sensitive  plate,  which  shall  be  placed  exactly 
where  the  ground  glass  now  is,  so  that  this  same 
image  shall  be  printed  on  it. 

For  this  purpose  we  must  quit  the  warm  pre 
cincts  of  the  cheerful  day,  and  go  into  the  nar 
row  den  where  the  deeds  of  darkness  are  done. 
Its  dimensions  are  of  the  smallest,  and  its  aspect 
of  the  rudest.  A  feeble  yellow  flame  from  a 
gas-light  is  all  that  illuminates  it.  All  round  us 
are  troughs  and  bottles  and  water-pipes,  and  ill- 
conditioned  utensils  of  various  kinds.  Every 
thing  is  blackened  with  nitrate  of  silver  ;  every 
form  of  spot,  of  streak,  of  splash,  of  spatter,  of 
stain,  is  to  be  seen  upon  the  floor,  the  walls,  the 
shelves,  the  vessels.  Leave  all  linen  behind 
you,  ye  who  enter  here,  or  at  least  protect  it  at 
every  exposed  point.  Cover  your  hands  in 
gauntlets  of  India-rffbber,  if  you  would  not  utter 
Lady  Macbeth 's  soliloquy  over  them  when  they 
come  to  the  light  of  day.  Defend  the  nether 
garments  with  overalls,  such  as  plain  artisans 


238          DOINGS   OF  THE   SUNBEAM. 

are  wont  to  wear.  Button  the  ancient  coat  over 
the  candid  shirt-front,  and  hold  up  the  retracted 
wristbands  by  elastic  bands  around  the  shirt 
sleeve  above  the  elbow.  Conscience  and  nitrate 
of  silver  are  telltales  that  never  forget  any  tam 
pering  with  them,  and  the  broader  the  light  the 
darker  their  record.  Now  to  our  work. 

Here  is  a  square  of  crown  glass  three  fourths 
as  large  as  a  page  of  the  "  Atlantic  Monthly," 
if  you  happen  to  know  that  periodical.  Let  us 
brush  it  carefully,  that  its  surface  may  be  free 
from  dust.  Now  we  take  hold  of  it  by  the  up 
per  left-hand  corner  and  pour  some  of  this  thin 
syrup-like  fluid  upon  it,  inclining  the  plate 
gently  from  side  to  side,  so  that  it  may  spread 
evenly  over  the  surface,  and  let  the  superfluous 
fluid  drain  back  from  the  right-hand  upper  cor 
ner  into  the  bottle.  We  keep  the  plate  rocking 
from  side  to  side,  so  as  to  prevent  the  fluid  run 
ning  in  lines,  as  it  has  a  tendency  to  do.  The 
neglect  of  this  precaution  is  evident  in  some  oth 
erwise  excellent  photographs  ;  we  notice  it,  for 
instance,  in  Frith's  Abou  Simbel,  No.  1,  the 
magnificent  rock-temple  facade.  In  less  than  a 


DOINGS   OF  THE  SUNBEAM.          239 

minute  the  syrupy  fluid  has  dried,  and  appears 
like  a  film  of  transparent  varnish  on  the  glass 
plate.  We  now  place  it  on  a  flat  double  hook 
of  gutta-percha,  and  lower  it  gently  into  the 
nitrate-of-silver  bath.  As  it  must  remain  there 
three  or  four  minutes,  we  will  pass  away  the 
time  in  explaining  what  has  been  already  done. 
The  syrupy  fluid  was  iodized  collodion.  This 
is  made  by  dissolving  gun-cotton  in  ether  with 
alcohol,  and  adding  some  iodide  of  ammonium. 
When  a  thin  layer  of  this  fluid  is  poured  on  the 
glass  plate,  the  ether  and"  alcohol  evaporate  very 
speedily,  and  leave  a  closely  adherent  film  of 
organic  matter  derived  from  the  cotton,  and 
containing  iodide  of  ammonium.  We  have 
plunged  this  into  the  bath,  which  contains 
chiefly  nitrate  of  silver,  but  also  some  iodide 
of  silver, — knowing  that  a  decomposition  will 
take  place,  in  consequence  of  which  the  iodide 
of  ammonium  will  become  changed  to  the  iodide 
of  silver,  which  will  now  fill  the  pores  of  the 
collodion  film.  The  iodide  of  silver  is  emi 
nently  sensitive  to  light.  The  use  of  the 
collodion  is  to  furnish  a  delicate,  homogeneous, 


240          DOINGS   OF  THE  SUNBEAM. 

adhesive,  colorless  layer  in  which  the  iodide 
may  be  deposited.  Its  organic  nature  may 
favor  the  action  of  light  upon  the  iodide  of 
silver. 

While  we  have  been  talking  and  waiting,  the 
process  just  described  has  been  going  on,  and 
we  are  now  ready  to  take  the  glass  plate  out  of 
the  nitrate-of-silver  bath.  It  is  wholly  changed 
in  aspect.  The  film  has  become  in  appearance 
like  a  boiled  white  of  egg,  so  that  the  glass  pro 
duces  rather  the  effect  of  porcelain,  as  we  look 
at  it.  Open  no  door  now  !  Let  in  no  glimpse 
of  day,  or  the  charm  is  broken  in  an  instant  ! 
No  Sultana  was  ever  veiled  from  the  right  of 

to 

heaven  as  this  milky  tablet  we  hold  must  be. 
But  we  must  carry  it  to  the  camera  which 
stands  waiting  for  it  in  the  blaze  of  high  noon. 
To  do  this,  we  first  carefully  place  it  in  this 
narrow  case,  called  a  shield,  where  it  lies  safe 
in  utter  darkness.  We  now  carry  it  to  the 
camera,  and,  having  removed  the  ground  glass 
on  which  the  camera-picture  had  been  brought 
to  an  exact  focus,  we  drop  the  shield  containing 
the  sensitive  plate  into  the  groove  the  glass 


DOINGS   OF   THE  SUNBEAM.          241 

occupied.  Then  we  pull  out  a  slide,  as  the 
blanket  is  taken  from  a  horse  before  he  starts. 
There  is  nothing  now  but  to  remove  the  brass 

O 

cap  from  the  lens.  That  is  giving  the  word 
Go !  It  is  a  tremulous  moment  for  the  be 
ginner. 

As  we  lift  the  brass  cap,  we  begin  to  count 
seconds,  —  by  a  watch,  if  we  are  naturally  un 
rhythmical,  —  by  the  pulsations  in  our  souls,  if 
we  have  an  intellectual  pendulum  and  escape 
ment.  Most  persons  can  keep  tolerably  even 

time  with  a  second-hand  while  it  is  traversing 

o 

its  circle.  The  light  is  pretty  good  at  this  time, 
and  we  count  only  as  far  as  thirty,  when  we 
cover  the  lens  again  with  the  cap.  Then  we 
replace  the  slide  in  the  shield,  draw  this  out  of 
the  camera,  and  carry  it  back  into  the  shadowy 
realm  where  Cocytus  flows  in  black  nitrate  of 
silver  and  Acheron  stagnates  in  the  pool  of  hy 
posulphite,  and  invisible  ghosts,  trooping  down 
from  the  world  of  day,  cross  a  Styx  of  dissolved 
sulphate  of  iron,  and  appear  before  the  Rhada- 
manthus  of  that  lurid  Hades. 

Such  a  ghost  we  hold  imprisoned  in  the  shield 
il  p 


242          DOINGS  OF   THE  SUNBEAM. 

we  have  just  brought  from   the  camera.     We 
open  it,  and  find  our  milky-surfaced  glass  plate 
looking  exactly  as  it  did  when  we  placed  it  in 
the  shield.     No  eye,  no  microscope,  can  detect 
a  trace  of  change  in  the  white  film  that  is  spread 
over  it.     And  yet  there  is  a  potential  image  in 
it,  —  a  latent  soul,  which  will  presently  appear 
before  its  judge.     This  is  the  Stygian  stream, 
—  this    solution  of  protosulphate  of  iron,  with 
which  we  will  presently  flood  the  white  surface. 
We  pour  on  the  solution.     There  is  no  change 
at  first ;  the  fluid  flows  over  the  whole  surface 
as  harmless  and  as  useless  as  if  it  were  water. 
What  if  there  were  no  picture  there  ?     Stop ! 
what  is  that  change  of  color  beginning  at  this 
edge,  and  spreading  as  a  blush  spreads  over  a 
girl's  cheek  ?     It  is  a  border,  like  that  round  the 
picture,  and  then  dawns  the  outline  of  a  head, 
and  now  the  eyes  come  out  from  the  blank  as 
stars  from  the  empty  sky,  and   the  lineaments 
define    themselves,    plainly   enough,    yet    in    a 
strange  aspect,  —  for  where  there  was  light  in 
the  picture  we  have  shadow,  and  where  there 
was  shadow  we  have  light.     But  while  we  look 


DOINGS  OF   THE  SUNBEAM.          243 

it  seems  to  fade  again,  as  if  it  would  disappear. 
Have  no  fear  of  that ;  it  is  only  deepening  its 
shadows.  Now  we  place  it  under  the  running 
water  which  we  have  always  at  hand.  We 
hold  it  up  before  the  dull-red  gas-light,  and  then 
we  see  that  every  line  of  the  original  and  the 
artist's  name  are  reproduced  as  sharply  as  if  the 
fairies  had  engraved  them  for  us.  The  picture 
is  perfect  of  its  kind,  only  it  seems  to  want  a 
little  more  force.  That  we  can  easily  get  by 
the  simple  process  called  "intensifying"  or 
"  redeveloping."  We  mix  a  solution  of  nitrate 
of  silver  and  of  pyrogullic  acid  in  about  equal 
quantities,  and  pour  it  upon  the  pictured  film 
and  back  again  into  the  vessel,  repeating  this 
with  the  same  portion  of  fluid  several  times. 
Presently  the  fluid  grows  brownish,  and  at  the 
same  time  the  whole  picture  gains  the  depth  of 
shadow  in  its  darker  parts  which  we  desire. 
Again  we  place  it  under  the  running  water. 
When  it  is  well  washed,  we  plunge  it  into  this 
bath  of  hyposulphite  of  soda,  which  removes  all 
the  iodide  of  silver,  leaving  only  the  dark  metal 
impregnating  the  film.  After  it  has  remained 


244          DOINGS   OF  THE  SUNBEAM. 

there  a  few  minutes,  we  take  it  out  and  wash  it 
again  as  before,  under  the  running  stream  of 
water.  Then  we  dry  it,  and  when  it  is  dry, 
pour  varnish  over  it,  dry  that,  and  it  is  done. 
This  is  a  negative,  —  not  a  true  picture,  but  a 
reversed  picture,  which  puts  darkness  for  light 
and  light  for  darkness.  From  this  we  can  take 
true  pictures,  or  positives. 

Let  us  now  proceed  to  take  one  of  these  pic 
tures.  In  a  small  room,  lighted  by  a  few  rays 
which  filter  through  a  yellow  curtain,  a  youth 
has  been  employed  all  the  morning  in  develop 
ing  the  sensitive  conscience  of  certain  sheets  of 
paper,  which  came  to  him  from  the  manufac 
turer  already  glazed  by  having  been  floated 
upon  the  white  of  eggs  and  carefully  dried, 
as  previously  described.  This  "  albumenized  " 
paper  the  youth  lays  gently  and  skilfully  upon 
the  surface  of  a  solution  of  nitrate  of  silver. 
When  it  has  floated  there  a  few  minutes,  he 
lifts  it,  lets  it  drain,  and  hangs  it  by  one  corner 
to  dry.  This  "  sensitized "  paper  is  served 
fresh  every  morning,  as  it  loses  its  delicacy  by 
keeping. 


DOINGS   OF   THE  SUNBEAM.          245 

We  take  a  piece  of  this  paper  of  the  proper 
size,  and  lay  it  on  the  varnished  or  pictured  side 
of  the  negative,  which  is  itself  laid  in  a  wooden 
frame,  like  a  picture-frame.  Then  we  place  a 
thick  piece  of  cloth  on  the  paper.  Then  we 
lay  a  hinged  wooden  back  on  the  cloth,  and  by 
means  of  two  brass  springs  press  all  close  to 
gether, —  the  wooden  back  against  the  cloth, 
.the  cloth  against  the  paper,  the  paper  against 
the  negative.  We  turn  the  frame  over,  and  see 
that  the  plain  side  of  the  glass  negative  is  clean. 
And  now  we  step  out  upon  the  roof  of  the 
house  into  the  bright  sunshine,  and  lay  the 
frame,  with  the  glass  uppermost,  in  the  full 
blaze  of  light.  For  a  very  little  while  we  can 
see  the  paper  darkening  through  the  negative, 
but  presently  it  clouds  so  much  that  its  further 
changes  cannot  be  recognized.  When  we  think 
it  has  darkened  nearly  enough,  we  turn  it  over, 
open  a  part  of  the  hinged  back,  turn  down  first 
a  portion  of  the  thick  cloth,  and  then  enough  of 
the  paper  to  see  something  of  the  forming  pic 
ture.  If  not  printed  dark  enough  as  yet,  we 
turn  back  to  their  places  successively  the  pie- 


246          DOINGS   OF   THE   SUNBEAM. 

ture,  the  cloth,  the  opened  part  of  the  frame, 
and  lay  it  again  in  the  sun.  It  is  just  like 
cooking :  the  sun  is  the  fire,  and  the  picture  is 
the  cake  ;  when  it  is  browned  exactly  to  the  right 
point,  we  take  it  off  the  fire.  A  photograph- 
printer  will  have  fifty  or  more  pictures  printing 
at  once,  and  he  keeps  going  up  and  down  the 
line,  opening  the  frames  to  look  and  see  how 
they  are  getting  on.  As  fast  as  they  are  done, 
he  turns  them  over,  back  to  the  sun,  and  the 
cooking  process  stops  at  once. 

The  pictures  which  have  just  been  printed  in 
the  sunshine  are  of  a  peculiar  purple  tint,  and 
still  sensitive  to  the  light,  which  will  first  "  flat 
ten  them  out, "  and  finally  darken  the  whole  pa 
per,  if  they  are  exposed  to  it  before  the  series 
of  processes  which  "  fixes"  and  "  tones  "  them. 
They  are  kept  shaded,  therefore,  until  a  batch 
is  ready  to  go  down  to  the  toning-room. 

When  they  reach  that  part  of  the  establish 
ment,  the  first  thing  that  is  done  with  them  is 
to  throw  them  face  down  upon  the  surface  of 
a  salt  bath.  Their  purple  changes  at  once  to  a 
dull  red.  They  are  then  washed  in  clean  water 


DOINGS   OF  THE  SUNBEAM.          247 

for  a  few  minutes,  and  after  that  laid,  face  up, 
in  a  solution  of  chloride  of  gold  with  a  salt  of 
soda.  Here  they  must  lie  for  some  minutes  at 
least;  for  the  change,  which  we  can  watch  by 
the  scanty  daylight  admitted,  goes  on  slowly. 
Gradually  they  turn  to  a  darker  shade ;  the 
reddish  tint  becomes  lilac,  purple,  brown,  of 
somewhat  different  tints  in  different  cases. 
When  the  process  seems  to  have  gone  far 
enough,  the  picture  is  thrown  into  a  bath  con 
taining  hyposulphite  of  soda,  which  dissolves  the 
superfluous,  unstable  compounds,  and  rapidly 
clears  up  the  lighter  portion  of  the  picture. 
On  being  removed  from  this,  it  is  thoroughly 
washed,  dried,  and  mounted,  by  pasting  it  with 
starch  or  dextrine  to  a  card  of  the  proper  size. 

The  reader  who  has  followed  the  details  of 
the  process  may  like  to  know  what  are  the  com 
mon  difficulties  the  beginner  meets  with. 

The  first  is  in  coating  the  glass  with  collo 
dion.  It  takes  some  practice  to  learn  to  do  this 
neatly  and  uniformly. 

The  second  is  in  timing  the  immersion  in  the 
nitrate-of-silver  bath.  This  is  easily  overcome  ; 


248          DOINGS  OF  THE  SUNBEAM. 

the  glass  may  be  examined  by  the  feeble  lamp 
light  at  the  end  of  two  or  three  minutes,  and,  if 
the  surface  looks  streaky,  replunged  in  the  bath 
for  a  minute  or  two  more,  or  until  the  surface 
looks  smooth. 

The  third  is  in  getting  an  exact  focus  in  the 
camera,  which  wants  good  eyes,  or  strong  glasses 
for  poor  ones. 

The  fourth  is  in  timing  the  exposure.     This 
is  the  most  delicate  of  all  the  processes.     Expe 
rience  alone  can  teach  the  time  required  with 
different  objects  in  different  lights.      Here  are 
four  card-portraits  from  a  negative  taken  from 
one   of  Barry's   crayon-pictures,  illustrating  an 
experiment  which  will  prove  very  useful  to  the 
beginner.     The  negative  of  No.  1  was  exposed 
only  two  seconds.      The  young  lady's  face   is 
very  dusky  on  a  very  dusky  ground.    The  lights 
have  hardly  come  out  at  all.     No.  2  was  exposed 
five  seconds.       Undertimed,  but  much   cleared 
up.     No.  3  was  exposed  fifteen  seconds,  about 
the   proper  time.      It  is  the  best  of  the  series, 
but  the  negative  ought  to  have  been  intensified. 
It  looks  as  if  Miss  E.  V.  had  washed  her  face 


DOINGS   OF   THE  SUNBEAM.          249 

since  the  five-seconds  picture  was  taken.  No. 
4  was  exposed  sixty  seconds,  that  is  to  say, 
three  or  four  times  too  long.  It  has  a  curious 
resemblance  to  No.  1,  but  is  less  dusky.  The 
contrasts  of  light  and  shade  which  gave  life  to 
No.  3  have  disappeared,  and  the  face  looks  as  if 
a  second  application  of  soap  would  improve  it. 
A  few  trials  of  this  kind  will  teach  the  eye  to 
recognize  the  appearances  of  under  and  over- 
exposure,  so  that,  if  the  first  negative  proves  to 
have  been  too  long  or  too  short  a  time  in  the 
camera,  the  proper  period  of  exposure  for  the 
next  may  be  pretty  easily  determined. 

The  printing  from  the  negative  is  less,  diffi 
cult,  because  we  can  examine  the  picture  as 
often  as  we  choose ;  but  it  may  be  well  to  un 
dertime  and  overtime  some  pictures,  for  the 
sake  of  a  lesson  like  that  taught  by  the  series 
of  pictures  from  the  four  negatives. 

The  only  other  point  likely  to  prove  difficult 
is  the  toning  in  the  gold  bath.  As  the  picture 
can  be  watched,  however,  a  very  little  practice 
will  enable  us  to  recognize  the  shade  which  in 
dicates  that  this  part  of  the  process  is  finished. 
11* 


250          DOINGS  OF   THE  SUNBEAM. 

We  have  copied  a  picture,  but  we  can  take  a 
portrait  from  Nature  just  as  easily,  except  for  a 
little  more  trouble  in  adjusting  the  position  and 
managing  the  light.  So  easy  is  it  to  reproduce 
the  faces  that  we  love  to  look  upon ;  so  simple 
is  that  marvellous  work  by  which  we  preserve 
the  first  smile  of  infancy  and  the  last  look  of 
age ;  the  most  precious  gift  Art  ever  bestowed 
upon  love  and  friendship ! 

It  will  be  observed  that  the  glass  plate,  cov 
ered  with  its  film  of  collodion,  was  removed 
directly  from  the  nitrate-of-silver  bath  to  the 
camera,  so  as  to  be  exposed  to  its  image  while 
still  wet.  It  is  obvious  that  this  process  is  one 
that  can  hardly  be  performed  conveniently  at  a 
distance  from  the  artist's  place  of  work.  Solu 
tions  of  nitrate  of  silver  are  not  carried  about 
and  decanted  into  baths  and  back  again  into 
bottles  without  tracking  their  path  on  persons 
and  things.  The  photophobia  of  the  "  sensi 
tized "  plate,  of  course,  requires  a  dark  apart 
ment  of  some  kind  :  commonly  a  folding  tent 
is  made  to  answer  the  purpose  in  photographic 
excursions.  It  becomes,  therefore,  a  serious 


DOINGS   OF   THE  SUNBEAM.          251 

matter  to  transport  all  that  is  required  to  make 
a  negative  according  to  the  method  described. 
It  has  consequently  been  a  great  desideratum 
to  find  some  way  of  preparing  a  sensitive  plate 
which  could  be  dried  and  laid  away,  retaining 
its  sensitive  quality  for  days  or  weeks,  until 
wanted.  The  artist  would  then  have  to  take 
with  him  nothing  but  his  camera  and  his  dry 
sensitive  plates.  After  exposing  these  in  the 
camera,  they  would  be  kept  in  dark  boxes  until 
he  was  ready  to  develop  them  at  leisure  on  re 
turning  to  his  atelier. 

Many  "  dry  methods  "  have  been  contrived, 
of  which  the  tannin  process  is  in  most  favor. 
The  plate,  after  being  "  sensitized  "  and  washed, 
is  plunged  in  a  bath  containing  ten  grains  of  tan 
nin  to  an  ounce  of  water.  It  is  then  dried,  and 
may  be  kept  for  a  long  time  without  losing  its 
sensitive  quality.  It  is  placed  dry  in  the  cam 
era,  and  developed  by  wetting  it  and  then  pour 
ing  over  it  a  mixture  of  pyrogallic  acid  and  the 
solution  of  nitrate  of  silver.  Amateurs  find 
this  the  best  way  of  taking  scenery,  and  pro 
duce  admirable  pictures  by  it,  as  we  shall  men 
tion  by  and  by. 


252          DOINGS   OF   THE   SUNBEAM. 

In  our  former  articles  we  have  spoken  prin 
cipally  of  stereoscopic  pictures.  These  are  still 
our  chief  favorites  for  scenery,  for  architectural 

objects,  for  almost  everything  but  portraits, 

and  even  these  last  acquire  a  reality  in  the 
stereoscope  which  they  can  get  in  no  other  way. 
In  this  third  photographic  excursion  we  must 
only  touch  briefly  upon  the  stereograph.  Yet 
we  have  something  to  add  to  what  we  said 
before  on  this  topic. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  accessions  to  our 
collection  is  a  series  of  twelve  views,  on  glass, 
of  scenes  and  objects  in  California,  sent  us  with 
unprovoked  liberality  by  the  artist,  Mr.  Wat- 
kins.  As  specimens  of  art  they  are  admirable, 
and  some  of  the  subjects  are  among  the  most 
interesting  to  be  found  in  the  whole  realm  of 
Nature.  Thus,  the  great  tree,  the  "  Grizzly 
Giant,"  of  Mariposa,  is  shown  in  two  admira 
ble  views  ;  the  mighty  precipice  of  El  Capitan, 
more  than  three  thousand  feet  in  precipitous 
height,  —  the  three  conical  hill-tops  of  Yo  Sem 
ite,  taken,  not  as  they  soar  into  the  atmosphere, 
but  as  they  are  reflected  in  the  calm  waters  be- 


DOINGS  OF   THE   SUNBEAM.          253 

low,  —  these  and  others  are  shown,  clear,  yet 
soft,  vigorous  in  the  foreground,  delicately  dis 
tinct  in  the  distance,  in  a  perfection  of  art 
which  compares  with  the  finest  European  work. 
The  "  London  Stereoscopic  Company "  has 
produced  some  very  beautiful  paper  stereo 
graphs,  very  dear,  but  worth  their  cost,  of  the 
Great  Exhibition.  There  is  one  view,  which 
we  are  fortunate  enough  to  possess,  that  is  a 
marvel  of  living  detail,  —  one  of  the  series 
showing  the  opening  ceremonies.  The  picture 
gives  principally  the  musicians.  By  careful 
counting,  we  find  there  are  six  hundred  faces 
to  the  square  inch  in  the  more  crowded  portion 
of  the  scene  which  the  view  embraces,  —  a  part 
occupied  by  the  female  singers.  These  singers 
are  all  clad  in  white,  and  packed  with  great 
compression  of  crinoline,  —  if  that,  indeed,  were 
worn  on  the  occasion.  Mere  points  as  their 
faces  seem  to  the  naked  eye,  the  stereoscope, 
and  still  more  a  strong  magnifier,  shows  them 
with  their  mouths  all  open  as  they  join  in  the 
chorus,  and  with  such  distinctness  that  some  of 
them  might  readily  be  recognized  by  those  fa- 


254          DOINGS   OF  THE  SUNBEAM. 

miliar  with  their  aspect.  This,  it  is  to  be  re 
membered,  is  not  a  reduced  stereograph  for  the 
microscope,  but  a  common  one,  taken  as  we  see 
them  taken  constantly. 

We  find  in  the  same  series  several  very  good 
views  of  Gibson's  famous  colored  "Venus,"  a 
lady  with  a  pleasant  face  and  a  very  pretty  pair 
of  shoulders.  But  the  grand  "  Cleopatra "  of 
our  countryman,  Mr.  Story,  of  which  we  have 
heard  so  much,  was  not  to  be  had,  —  why  not 
we  cannot  say,  for  a  stereograph  of  it  would 
have  had  an  immense  success  in  America,  and 
doubtless  everywhere. 

The  London  Stereoscopic  Company  has  also 
furnished  us  with  views  of  Paris,  many  of  them 
instantaneous,  far  in  advance  of  the  earlier  ones 
of  Parisian  origin.  Our  darling  little  church  of 
St.  Etienne  du  Mont,  for  instance,  with  its  stair 
case  and  screen  of  stone  embroidery,  its  carved 
oaken  pulpit  borne  on  the  back  of  a  carved 
oaken  Samson,  its  old  monuments,  its  stained 
windows,  is  brought  back  to  us  in  all  its  minute 
detail  as  we  remember  it  in  many  a  visit  made 
on  our  wray  back  from  the  morning's  work  at 


DOINGS  OF   THE  SUNBEAM.          255 

La  Pitid  to  the  late  breakfast  at  the  Cafe*  Pro- 
cope.  Some  of  the  instantaneous  views  are  of 
great  perfection,  and  carry  us  as  fairly  upon  the 
Boulevards  as  Mr.  Anthony  transports  us  to 
Broadway.  With  the  exception  of  this  series, 
we  have  found  very  few  new  stereoscopic  pic 
tures  in  the  market  for  the  last  year  or  two. 
This  is  not  so  much  owing  to  the  increased  ex 
pense  of  importing  foreign  views  as  to  the  greater 
popularity  of  card-portraits,  which,  as  everybody 
knows,  have  become  the  social  currency,  the 
sentimental  "  Green-backs  "  of  civilization,  with 
in  a  very  recent  period. 

We,  who  have  exhausted  our  terms  of  admi 
ration  in  describing  the  stereoscopic  picture, 
will  not  quarrel  with  the  common  taste  which 
prefers  the  card-portrait.  The  last  is  the  cheap 
est,  the  most  portable,  requires  no  machine  to 
look  at  it  with,  can  be  seen  by  several  persons 
at  the  same  time,  —  in  short,  has  all  the  popular 
elements.  Many  care  little  for  the  wonders  of 
the  world  brought  before  their  eyes  by  the 
stereoscope  ;  all  love  to  see  the  faces  of  their 
friends.  Jonathan  does  not  think  a  great  deal 


256          DOINGS   OF   THE  SUNBEAM. 

of  the  Venus  of  Milo^  but  falls  into  raptures 
over  a  card-portrait  of  his  Jerusha.  So  far 
from  finding  fault  with  him,  we  rejoice  rather 
that  his  affections  and  those  of  average  mor 
tality  are  better  developed  than  their  taste  ;  and 
lost  as  we  sometimes  are  in  contemplation  of 
the  shadowy  masks  of  ugliness  which  hang  in 
the  frames  of  the  photographers,  as  the  skins 
of  beasts  are  stretched  upon  tanners'  fences,  we 
still  feel  grateful,  when  we  remember  the  days 
of  itinerant  portrait-painters,  that  the  indignities 
of  Nature  are  no  longer  intensified  by  the  out 
rages  of  Art. 

The  sitters  who  throng  the  photographer's 
establishment  are  a  curious  study.  They  are 
of  all  ages,  from  the  babe  in  arms  to  the  old 
wrinkled  patriarchs  and  dames  whose  smiles 
have  as  many  furrows  as  an  ancient  elm  has 
rings  that  count  its  summers.  The  sun  is  a 
Rembrandt  in  his  way,  and  loves  to  track  all  the 
lines  in  these  old  splintered  faces.  A  photo 
graph  of  one  of  them  is  like  one  of  those 
fossilized  sea-beaches  where  the  rain-drops  have 
left  their  marks,  and  the  shell-fish  the  grooves 


DOINGS  OF  THE   SUNBEAM.          257 

in  which  they  crawled,  and  the  wading  birds 
the  divergent  lines  of  their  footprints,  —  tears, 
caivs,  griefs,  once  vanishing  as  impressions  from 
the  sand,  now  fixed  as  the  vestiges  in  the  sand 
stone. 

Attitudes,  dresses,  features,  hands,  feet,  betray 
the  social  grade  of  the  candidates  for  portraiture. 
The  picture  tells  no  lie  about  them.  There  is 
no  use  in  their  putting  on  airs  ;  the  make- 
believe  gentleman  and  lady  cannot  look  like  the 
genuine  article.  Mediocrity  shows  itself  for 
what  it  is  worth,  no  matter  what  temporary 
name  it  may  have  acquired.  Ill-temper  can 
not  hide  itself  under  the  simper  of  assumed 
amiability.  The  querulousness  of  incompetent 
complaining  natures  confesses  itself  almost  as 
much  as  in  the  tones  of  the  voice.  The  anxiety 
which  strives  to  smooth  its  forehead  cannot  get 
rid  of  the  telltale  furrow.  The  weakness  which 
belongs  to  the  infirm  of  purpose  and  vacuous  of 
thought  is  hardly  to  be  disguised,  even  though 
the  moustache  is  allowed  to  hide  the  centre  of 
expression. 

All  parts  of  a  face  doubtless  have  their  fixed 


258          DOINGS  OF  THE  SUNBEAM. 

relations  to  each  other  and  to  the  character  of 
the  person  to  whom  the  face  belongs.  But 
there  is  one  feature,  and  especially  one  part  of 
that  feature,  which  more  than  any  other  facial 
sign  reveals  the  nature  of  the  individual.  The 
feature  is  the  mouth,  and  the  portion  of  it  referred 
to  is  the  corner.  A  circle  of  half  an  inch  radius, 
having  its  centre  at  the  junction  of  the  two  lips, 
will  include  the  chief  focus  of  expression. 

This  will  be  easily  understood,  if  we  reflect 
that  here  is  the  point  where  more  muscles  of 
expression  converge  than  at  any  other.  From 
above  comes  the  elevator  of  the  angle  of  the 

O 

mouth  ;  from  the  region  of  the  cheek-bone  slant 
downwards  the  two  zygomatics,  which  carry  the 
angle  outwards  and  upwards  ;  from  behind  comes 
the  buccinator,  or  trumpeter's  muscle,  which  sim 
ply  widens  the  mouth  by  drawing  the  corners 
straight  outward ;  from  below,  the  depressor  of 
the  angle  ;  not  to  add  a  seventh,  sometimes  well 
marked,  —  the  "  laughing  muscle"  of  Santorini. 
"Within  the  narrow  circle  where  these  muscles 
meet  the  ring  of  muscular  fibres  surrounding 
the  mouth  the  battles  of  the  soul  record  their 


DOINGS   OF   THE  SUNBEAM.          259 

varying  fortunes  and  results.  This  is  the  "  nceud 
vital"  —  to  borrow  Flourens's  expression  with 
reference  to  a  nervous  centre,  —  the  vital  knot 
of  expression.  Here  we  may  read  the  victories 
and  defeats,  the  force,  the  weakness,  the'  hard 
ness,  the  sweetness  of  a  character.  Here  is  the 
nest  of  that  feeble  fowl,  self-consciousness,  whose 
brood  strays  at  large  over  all  the  features. 

If  you  wish  to  see  the  very  look  your  friend 
wore  when  his  portrait  was  taken,  let  not  the 
finishing  artist's  pencil  intrude  within  the  circle 
of  the  vital  knot  of  expression. 

We  have  learned  many  curious  facts  from 
photographic  portraits  which  we  were  slow  to 
learn  from  faces.  One  is  the  great  number 
of  aspects  belonging  to  each  countenance  with 
which  we  are  familiar.  Sometimes,  in  looking 
at  a  portrait,  it  seems  to  us  that  this  is  just  the 
face  we  know,  and  that  it  is  always  thus.  But 
again  another  view  shows  us  a  wholly  different 
aspect,  which  is  yet  as  absolutely  characteristic 
as  the  first ;  and  a  third  and  a  fourth  convince 
us  that  our  friend  was  not  one,  but  many,  in 
outward  appearance,  as  in  the  mental  and 


260          DOINGS   OF  THE  SUNBEAM. 

emotional   shapes   by   which    his    inner   nature 
made  itself  known  to  us. 

Another  point  which  must  have  struck  every 
body  who  has  studied  photographic  portraits  is 
the  family  likeness  that  shows  itself  throughout 
a  whole  wide  connection.     We  notice  it  more 
readily  than  in  life,  from  the  fact  that  we  bring 
many   of   these  family  portraits    together,    and 
study  them  more  at  our  ease.     There  is  some 
thing  in  the  face  that  corresponds  to  tone  in  the 
voice,  —  recognizable,  not   capable    of  descrip 
tion  ;  and  this  kind  of  resemblance  in  the  faces 
of  kindred  we  may  observe,  though  the  features 
are  unlike.      But   the  features  themselves   are 
wonderfully   tenacious    of   their    old    patterns. 
The   Prince  of  Wales  is  getting  to  look  like 
George  III.     We  noticed  it  when  he  was  in 
this  country  ;  we  see  it  more  plainly  in  his  re 
cent  photographs.     Governor  Endicott's  features 
have  come  straight  down  to  some  of  his  descend 
ants  in   the  present  day.     There  is  a  dimpled 
chin  which  runs  through  one  family  connection 
we  have  studied,  and  a  certain  form  of  lip  which 
belongs  to  another.     As  our  cJieval  de  laUaille 


DOINGS   OF   THE  SUNBEAM.          2G1 

stands  ready  saddled  and  bridled  for  us  just  now, 
we  must  indulge  ourselves  in  mounting  him  for 
a  brief  excursion.  This  is  a  story  we  have  told 
so  often  that  we  should  begin  to  doubt  it  but 
for  the  fact  that  we  have  before  us  the  written 
statement  of  the  person  who  was  its  subject. 
His  professor,  who  did  not  know  his  name  or 
anything  about  him,  stopped  him  one  day  after 
lecture  and  asked  him  if  he  was  not  a  relation 

of  Mr. ,  a  person  of  some  note  in   Essex 

County.  —  Not  that  he  had  ever  heard  of.  — 
The  professor  thought  he  must  be,  —  would  he 
inquire?  —  Two  or  three  days  afterwards,  hav 
ing  made  inquiries  at  his  home  in  Middlesex 
County,  he  reported  that  an  elder  member  of 
the  family  informed  him  that  Mr. 's  great 
grandfather  on  his  mother's  side  and  his  own 
great-grandfather  on  his  father's  side  were  own 
cousins.  The  whole  class  of  facts,  of  which  this 
seems  to  us  too  singular  an  instance  to  be  lost, 
is  forcing  itself  into  notice,  with  new  strength 
of  evidence,  through  the  galleries  of  photo 
graphic  family  portraits  which  are  making  every 
where. 


262          DOINGS   OF   THE  SUNBEAM 

In  the  course  of  a  certain  number  of  years 
there  will  have  been  developed  some  new  physi 
ognomical  results,  which  will  prove  of  extreme 
interest  to  the  physiologist  and  the  moralist. 
They  will  take  time  ;  for,  to  bring  some  of  them 
out  fully,  a  generation  must  be  followed  from  its 
cradle  to  its  grave. 

The  first  will  be  derived  from  a  precise 
study  of  the  effects  of  age  upon  the  features. 
Many  series  of  portraits  taken  at  short  intervals 
through  life,  studied  carefully  side  by  side,  will 
probably  show  to  some  acute  observer  that  Na 
ture  is  very  exact  in  the  tallies  that  mark  the 
years  of  human  life. 

The  second  is  to  result  from  a  course  of  in 
vestigations  which  we  would  rather  indicate 
than  follow  out ;  for,  if  the  student  of  it  did 
not  fear  the  fate  of  Phalaris,  —  that  he  should 
find  himself  condemned  as  unlife worthy  upon 
the  basis  of  his  own  observations,  —  he  would 
Very  certainly  become  the  object  of  eternal 
hatred  to  the  proprietors  of  all  the  semi-organi 
zations  which  he  felt  obliged  to  condemn.  It 

& 

consists   in   the   study   of  the  laws  of  physical 


DOINGS   OF   THE  SUNBEAM.          263 

degeneration,  —  the  stages  and  manifestations  of 
the    process    by  which    Nature   dismantles    the 
complete  and  typical  human  organism,  until  it 
becomes  too  bad  for  her  own  sufferance,  and  she 
kills  it  off  before  the  advent  of  the  reproductive 
period,  that  it  may  not  permanently  depress  her 
average  of  vital  force  by  taking  part  in  the  life 
of  the  race.     There  are  many  signs  that  fall  far 
shorf  of  the  marks  of  cretinism,  —  yet  just  as 
plain  as  that  is  to  the  visus  eruditus,  —  which 
one  meets  every  hour  of  the  day  in  every  circle 
of  society.      Many  of  these   are  partial  arrests 
of  development.     We  do  not  care  to  mention 
all  which  we  think  may  be  recognized,  but  there 
is  one  which  we  need  not  hesitate  to  speak  of 
from  the  fact  that  it  is  so  exceedingly  common. 
The  vertical  part  of  the  lower  jaw  is  short, 
and  the  angle  of  the  jaw  is  obtuse,  in  infancy. 
When   the    organizing   force   is    abundant,    the 
lower  jaw,  which,  as  the  active  partner  in   the 
business  of  mastication,  must  be  developed   in 
proportion  to  the  vigor  of  the  nutritive   appa- 
.ratus,   comes  down  by  a  rapid  growth   which 
gives  the  straight-cut  posterior  line  and  the  bold 


264          DOINGS   OF  THE  SUNBEAM. 

right  angle  so  familiar  to  us  in  the  portraits  of 
pugilists,  exaggerated  by  the  caricaturists  in 
their  faces  of  fighting  men,  and  noticeable  in 
well-developed  persons  of  all  classes.  But  in 
imperfectly  grown  adults  the  jaw  retains  the 
infantile  character,  —  the  short  vertical  portion 
necessarily  implying  the  obtuse  angle.  The 
upper  jaw  at  the  same  time  fails  to  expand  lat 
erally  :  in  vigorous  organisms  it  spreads  out 
boldly,  and  the  teeth  stand  square  and  with 
space  enough ;  whereas  in  subvitalized  persons 
it  remains  narrow,  as  in  the  child,  so  that  the 
large  front  teeth  are  crowded,  and  slanted  for 
ward,  or  thrown  out  of  line.  This  want  of  lat 
eral  expansion  is  frequently  seen  in  the  jaws, 
upper  and  lower,  of  the  American,  and  has 
been  considered  a  common  cause  of  caries  of 
the  teeth. 

A  third  series  of  results  will  relate  to  the 
effect  of  character  in  moulding  the  features.  Go 
through  a  "rogues'  gallery"  and  observe  what 
the  faces  of  the  most  hardened  villains  have  in 
common.  All  these  villanous  looks  have  been 
shaped  out  of  the  unmeaning  lineaments  of  in- 


DOINGS  OF   THE  SUNBEAM.          265 

fancy.  The  police-officers  know  well  enough 
the  expression  of  habitual  crime.  Now,  if  all 
this  series  of  faces  had  been  carefully  studied  in 
photographs  from  the  days  of  innocence  to  those 
of  confirmed  guilt,  there  is  no  doubt  that  a  keen 
eye  might  recognize,  we  will  not  say  the  first 
evil  volition  in  the  change  it  wrought  upon  the 
face,  nor  each  successive  stage  in  the  downward 
process  of  the  falling  nature,  but  epochs  and 
eras,  with  differential  marks,  as  palpable  per 
haps  as  those  which  separate  the  aspects  of  the 
successive  decades  of  life.  And  what  is  far 
pleasanter,  when  the  character  of  a  neglected 
and  vitiated  child  is  raised  by  wise  culture,  the 
converse  change  will  be  found  —  nay,  has  been 
found  —  to  record  itself  unmistakably  upon  the 
faithful  page  of  the  countenance  ;  so  that  charita 
ble  institutions  have  learned  that  their  strongest 
appeal  lies  in  the  request,  "  Look  on  this  pic 
ture,  and  on  that," — the  lawless  boy  at  his 
entrance,  and  the  decent  youth  at  his  dismissal. 
The  field  of  photography  is  extending  itself  to 
embrace  subjects  of  strange  and  sometimes  of 
fearful  interest.  We  have  referred  in  a  former 
12 


266          DOINGS   OF  THE  SUNBEAM. 

article  to  a  stereograph  in  a  friend's  collection 
showing  the  bodies  of  the  slain  heaped  up  for 
burial  after  the  Battle  of  Melegnano.  We  have 
now  before  us  a  series  of  photographs  showing 
the  field  of  Antietam  and  the  surrounding 
country,  as  they  appeared  after  the  great  battle 
of  the  17th  of  September.  These  terrible  me 
mentos  of  one  of  the  most  sanguinary  conflicts 
of  the  war  we  owe  to  the  enterprise  of  Mr. 
Brady  of  New  York.  We  ourselves  were  on  the 
field  upon  the  Sunday  following  the  Wednesday 
when  the  battle  took  place.  It  is  not,  however, 
for  us  to  bear  witness  to  the  fidelity  of  views 
which  the  truthful  sunbeam  has  delineated  in 
all  their  dread  reality.  The  photographs  bear 
witness  to  the  accuracy  of  some  of  our  own 
sketches  in  a  paper  published  in  the  "  Atlantic 
Monthly  "  for  December,  1862.  The  "  ditch  " 
is  figured,  still  encumbered  wTith  the  dead,  and 
strewed,  as  we  saw  it  and  the  neighboring  fields, 
with  fragments  and  tatters.  The  "  colonel's 
gray  horse  "  is  given  in  another  picture,  just  as 
we  saw  him  lying. 

Let  him  who  wishes   to  know  what  war  is 


DOINGS  OF  THE  SUNBEAM.          267 

look  at  this  series  of  illustrations.    These  wrecks 
of  manhood,  thrown  together  in  careless  heaps 
or  ranged  in  ghastly  rows  for  burial,  were  alive 
but  yesterday.     How  dear  to  their  little  circles 
far  away,  most  of  them  !  —  how  little  cared  for 
here  by  the  tired  party  whose  office  it  is  to  con 
sign -them  to  the  earth  !    An  officer  may  here 
and  there  be  recognized  ;  but  for  the  rest,  —  if 
enemies,  they  will  be  counted,  and  that  is  all. 
U80  Rebels  are  buried  in  this  hole"  was   one 
of  the  epitaphs  we  read  and  recorded.     Many 
people    would    not    look    through    this    series. 
Many,  having  seen  it  and  dreamed  of  its  hor 
rors,  would  lock  it  up  in  some  secret  drawer, 
that   it   might  not  thrill  or  revolt  those  whose 
soul  sickens  at  such  sights.     It  was  so  nearly 
like  visiting  the  battle-field  to  look  over  these 
views,  that  all  the  emotions  excited  by  the  actual 
sight  of  the  stained  and  sordid   scene,  strewed 
with  rags  and  wrecks,  came  back  to  us,  and  we 
buried  them  in  the  recesses  of  our  cabinet  as  we 
would  have  buried  the  mutilated  remains  of  the 
dead  they  too   vividly    represented.     Yet    war 
and  battles  should  have  truth  for  their  delinea- 


268          DOINGS   OF  THE  SUNBEAM. 

tor.  It  is  well  enough  for  some  Baron  Gros  or 
Horace  Vernet  to  please  an  imperial  master 
with  fanciful  portraits  of  what  they  are  supposed 
to  be.  The  honest  sunshine 

"  Is  Nature's  sternest  painter,  yet  the  best " ; 

and  that  gives  us,  even  without  the  crimson 
coloring  which  flows  over  the  -recent  picture, 
some  conception  of  what  a  repulsive,  brutal, 
sickening,  hideous  thing  it  is,  this  dashing  to 
gether  of  two  frantic  mobs  to  which  we  give 
the  name  of  armies.  The  end  to  be  attained 
justifies  the  means,  we  are  willing  to  believe  ; 
but  the  sight  of  these  pictures  is  a  commentary 
on  civilization  such  as  a  savage  might  well  tri 
umph  to  show  its  missionaries.  Yet  through 
such  martyrdom  must  come  our  redemption. 
War  is  the  surgery  of  crime.  Bad  as  it  is  in 
itself,  it  always  implies  that  something  worse  has 
gone  before.  Where  is  the  American,  worthy  of 
his  privileges,  who  does  not  now  recognize  the 
fact,  if  never  until  now,  that  the  disease  of  our 
nation  was  organic,  not  functional,  calling  for  the 
knife,  and  not  for  washes  and  anodynes  ? 


DOINGS  OF  THE  SUNBEAM.          269 

It  is  a  relief  to  soar  away  from  the  contempla 
tion  of  these  sad  scenes,  and  fly  in  the  balloon 
which  carried  Messrs.  King  and  Black  in  their 
aerial  photographic  excursion.  Our  townsman, 
Dr.  John  Jeffries,  as  is  well  recollected,  was  one 
of  the  first  to  tempt  the  perilous  heights  of  the 
atmosphere,  and  the  first  who  ever  performed  a 
journey  through  the  air  of  any  considerable  ex 
tent.  We  believe  this  attempt  of  our  younger 
townsmen  to  be  the  earliest  in  which  the  aero 
naut  has  sought  to  work  the  two  miracles  at 
once,  of  rising  against  the  force  of  gravity,  and 
picturing  the  face  of  the  earth  beneath  him 
without  brush  or  pencil. 

One  of  their  photographs  is  lying  before  us. 
Boston,  as  the  eagle  and  the  wild  goose  see  it, 
is  a  very  different  object  from  the  same  place  as 
the  solid  citizen  looks  up  at  its  eaves  and  chim 
neys.  The  Old  South  and  Trinity  Church  are 
two  landmarks  not  to  be  mistaken.  Washing 
ton  Street  slants  across  the  picture  as  a  narrow 
cleft.  Milk  Street  winds  as  if  the  cowpath 
which  gave  it  a  name  had  been  followed  by  the 
builders  of  its  commercial  palaces.  Windows, 


270          DOINGS   OF  THE  SUNBEAM. 

chimneys,  and  skylights  attract  the  eye  in  the 
central  parts  of  the  view,  exquisitely  defined, 
bewildering  in  numbers.  Towards  the  circum 
ference  it  grows  darker,  becoming  clouded  and 
confused,  and  at  one  end  a  black  expanse  of 
waveless  water  is  whitened  by  the  nebulous 
outline  of  flitting  sails.  As  a  first  attempt,  it 
is  on  the  whole  a  remarkable  success  ;  but  its 
greatest  interest  is  in  showing  what  we  may 
hope  to  see  accomplished  in  the  same  direction. 
While  the  aeronaut  is  looking  at  our  planet 
from  the  vault  of  heaven  where  he  hangs  sus- 

o 

pended,  and  seizing  the  image  of  the  scene  be 
neath  him  as  he  flies,  the  astronomer  is  causing 
the  heavenly  bodies  to  print  their  images  on  the 
sensitive  sheet  he  spreads  under  the  rays  con 
centrated  by  his  telescope.  We  have  formerly 
taken  occasion  to  speak  of  the  wonderful  stereo 
scopic  figures  of  the  moon  taken  by  Mr.  De  la 
Hue  in  England,  by  Mr.  Rutherford  and  by  Mr. 
Whipple  in  this  country.  To  these  most  suc 
cessful  experiments  must  be  added  that  of  Dr. 
Henry  Draper,  who  has  constructed  a  reflecting 
telescope,  with  the  largest  silver  reflector  in  the 


DOINGS  OF   THE  SUNBEAM.          271 

world,  except  that  of  the  Imperial  Observatory 
at  Paris,  for  the  special  purpose  of  celestial  pho 
tography.  The  reflectors  made  by  Dr.  Draper 
"  will  show  Debilissima  quadruple,  and  easily 
bring  out  the  companion  of  Sirius  or  the  sixth 
star  in  the  trapezium  of  Orion. "  In  taking 
photographs  from  these  mirrors,  a  movement  of 
the  sensitive  plate  of  only  one  hundredth  of  an 
inch  will  render  the  image  perceptibly  less 
sharp.  It  was  this  accuracy  of  convergence  of 
the  light  which  led  Dr.  Draper  to  prefer  the 
mirror  to  the  achromatic  lens.  He  has  taken 
almost  all  the  daily  phases  of  the  moon,  from 
the  sixth  to  the  twenty-seventh  day,  using  most 
ly  some  of  Mr.  Anthony's  quick  collodion,  and 
has  repeatedly  obtained  the  full  moon  by  means 
of  it  in  one  third  of  a  second. 

In  the  last  "  Annual  of  Scientific  Discovery  " 
are  interesting  notices  of  photographs  of  the 
sun,  showing  the  spots  on  his  disk,  of  Jupiter 
with  his  belts,  and  Saturn  with  his  ring. 

While  the  astronomer  has  been  reducing  the 
heavenly  bodies  to  the  dimensions  of  his  stereo 
scopic  slide,  the  anatomist  has  been  lifting  the 


272          DOINGS  OF  THE   SUNBEAM. 

invisible  by  the  aid  of  his  microscope  into  pal 
pable  dimensions,  to  remain  permanently  re 
corded  in  the  handwriting  of  the  sun  himself. 
Eighteen  years  ago,  M.  Donne"  published  in 
Paris  a  series  of  plates  executed  after  figures 
obtained  by  the  process  of  Daguerre.  These, 
which  we  have  long  employed  in  teaching,  give 
some  pretty  good  views  of  various  organic 
elements,  but  do  not  attempt  to  reproduce  any 
of  the  tissues.  Professor  O.  N.  Rood,  of  Troy, 
has  sent  us  some  most  interesting  photographs, 
showing  the  markings  of  infusoria  enormously 
magnified  and  perfectly  defined.  In  a  stereo 
graph  sent  us  by  the  same  gentleman  the 
epithelium  scales  from  mucous  membrane  are 
shown  floating  or  half  submerged  in  fluid,  —  a 
very  curious  effect,  requiring  the  double  image 
to  produce  it.  Of  all  the  microphotographs  we 
have  seen,  those  made  by  Dr.  John  Dean,  of 
Boston,  from  his  own  sections  of  the  spinal 
cord,  are  the  most  remarkable  for  the  light  they 
throw  on  the  minute  structure  of  the  body. 
The  sections  made  by  Dr.  Dean  are  in  them 
selves  very  beautiful  specimens,  and  have  formed 


DOINGS  OF  THE  SUNBEAM.          273 

the  basis  of  a  communication  to  the  American 
Academy  of  Arts  and  Sciences,  in  which  many 
new  observations  have  been  added  to  our  knowl 
edge  of  this  most  complicated  structure.  But 
figures  drawn  from  images  seen  in  the  field  of 

O  o 

the  microscope  have  too  often  been  known  to 
borrow  a  good  deal  from  the  imagination  of  the 
beholder.  Some  objects  are  so  complex  that 
they  defy  the  most  cunning  hand  to  render 
them  with  all  their  features.  When  the  enlarged 
image  is  suffered  to  delineate  itself,  as  in  Dr. 
Dean's  views  of  the  medulla  oblongata,  there  is 
no  room  to  question  the  exactness  of  the  por 
traiture,  and  the  distant  student  is  able  to  form 
his  own  opinion  as  well  as  the  original  observer. 
These  later  achievements  of  Dr.  Dean  have  ex 
cited  much  attention  here  and  in  Europe,  and 
point  to  a  new  epoch  of  anatomical  and  physio 
logical  delineation. 

The  reversed  method  of  microscopic  photog 
raphy  is  that  which  gives  portraits  and  docu 
ments  in  little.  The  best  specimen  of  this  kind 
we  have  obtained  is  another  of  those  miracles 
which  recall  the  wonders  of  Arabian  fiction. 

12*  R 


274          DOINGS  OF  THE  SUNBEAM. 

On  a  slip  of  glass,  three  inches  long  by  one 
broad,  is  a  circle  of  thinner  glass,  as  large  as  a 
ten-cent  piece.  In  the  centre  of  this  is  a  speck, 
as  if  a  fly  had  stepped  there  without  scraping 
his  foot  before  setting  it  down.  On  putting  this 
under  a  microscope  magnifying  fifty  diameters 
there  come  into  view  the  Declaration  of  Inde 
pendence  in  full,  in  a  clear,  bold  type,  every 
name  signed  in  fac-simile  ;  the  arms  of  all  the 
States,  easily  made  out,  and  well  finished ;  with 
good  portraits  of  all  the  Presidents  down  to  a 
recent  date.  Any  person  familiar  with  their 
faces  would  recognize  any  one  of  these  portraits 
in  a  moment. 

Still  another  application  of  photography,  be 
coming  every  day  more  and  more  familiar  to 
the  public,  is  that  which  produces  enlarged  por 
traits,  even  life-size  ones,  from  the  old  daguerro- 
type  or  more  recent  photographic  miniature. 
As  we  have  seen  this  process,  a  closet  is  ar 
ranged  as  a  camera-obscura,  and  the  enlarged 
image  is  thrown  down  through  a  lens  above  on 
a  sheet  of  sensitive  paper  placed  on  a  table  capa 
ble  of  being  easily  elevated  or  depressed.  The 


DOINGS  OF  TIIE  SUNBEAM.          275 

image,  weakened  by  diffusion  over  so  large  a 
space,  prints  itself  slowly,  but  at  last  comes  out 
with  a  clearness  which  is  surprising,  —  a  fact 
which  is  parallel  to  what  is  observed  in  the 
stereoscopticon,  where  a  picture  of  a  few  square 
inches  in  size  is  "  extended  "  or  diluted  so  as  to 
cover  some  hundreds  of  square  feet,  and  yet 
preserves  its  sharpness  to  a  degree  which  seems 
incredible. 

The  copying  of  documents  to  be  used  as  evi 
dence  is  another  most  important  application  of 
photography.  No  scribe,  however  skilful,  could 
reproduce  such  a  paper  as  we  saw  submitted  to 
our  fellow-workman  in  Mr.  Black's  establish 
ment  the  other  day.  It  contained  perhaps  a 
hundred  names  and  marks,  but  smeared,  spot 
ted,  soiled,  rubbed,  and  showing  every  awkward 
shape  of  penmanship  that  a  miscellaneous  col 
lection  of  half-educated  persons  could  furnish. 
No  one,  on  looking  at  the  photographic  copy, 
could  doubt  that  it  was  a  genuine  reproduction 
of  a  real  list  of  signatures  ;  and  when  half  a 
dozen  such  copies,  all  just  alike,  were  shown, 
the  conviction  became  a  certainty  that  all  had  a 


276          DOINGS  OF  THE  SUNBEAM. 

common  origin.  This  copy  was  made  with  a 
Harrison's  globe  lens  of  sixteen  inches'  focal 
length,  and  was  a  very  sharp  and  accurate  du 
plicate  of  the  original.  It  is  claimed  for  this 
new  American  invention  that  it  is  "  quite  ahead 
of  anything  European";  and  the  certificates 
from  the  United  States  Coast-Survey  Office  go 
far  towards  sustaining  its  pretensions. 

Some  of  our  readers  are  aware  that  photo 
graphic  operations  are  not  confined  to  the  delin 
eation  of  material  objects.  There  are  certain 
establishments  in  which,  for  an  extra  considera 
tion  (on  account  of  the  difficilis  ascensus,  or 
other  long  journey  they  have  to  take),  the 
spirits  of  the  departed  appear  in  the  same  pic 
ture  which  gives  the  surviving  friends.  The  ac 
tinic  influence  of  a  ghost  on  a  sensitive  plate  is 
not  so  strong  as  might  be  desired  ;  but  consider 
ing  that  spirits  are  so  nearly  immaterial,  that  the 
stars,  as  Ossian  tells  us,  can  be  seen  through 
their  vaporous  outlines,  the  effect  is  perhaps  as 
good  as  ought  to  be  expected. 

Mrs.  Brown,  for  instance,  has  lost  her  infant, 
and  wishes  to  have  its  spirit-portrait  taken  with 


DOINGS  OF  THE  SUNBEAM.          277 

her  own.  A  special  sitting  is  granted,  and  a 
special  fee  is  paid.  In  due  time  the  photograph 
is  ready,  and  sure  enough,  there  is  the  misty 
image  of  an  infant  in  the  background,  or,  it  may 
be,  across  the  mother's  lap.  Whether  the  orig 
inal  of  the  image  was  a  month  Or  a  year  old, 
whether  it  belonged  to  Mrs.  Brown  or  Mrs. 
Jones  or  Mrs.  Robinson,  King  Solomon,  who 
could  point  out  so  sagaciously  the  parentage  of 
unauthenticated  babies,  would  be  puzzled  to 
guess.  But  it  is  enough  for  the  poor  mother, 
whose  eyes  are  blinded  with  tears,  that  she  sees 
a  print  of  drapery  like  an  infant's  dress,  and  a 
rounded  something,  like  a  foggy  dumpling, 
which  will  stand  for  a  face;  she  accepts  the 
spirit-portrait  as  a  revelation  from  the  world 
of  shadows.  Those  who  have  seen  shapes  in 
the  clouds,  or  remember  Hamlet  and  Polonius, 
or  who  have  noticed  how  readily  untaught  eyes 
see  a  portrait  of  parent,  spouse,  or  child  in 
almost  any  daub  intended  for  the  same,  will  un 
derstand  how  easily  the  weak  people  who  resort 
to  these  places  are  deluded. 

There   are    various   ways   of   producing   the 


278          DOINGS   OF   THE  SUNBEAM. 

spirit-photographs.     One  of  the   easiest  is  this. 
First  procure  a  bereaved  subject  with  a  mind 
"  sensitized  "  by  long  immersion   in  credulity. 
Find  out  the  age,  sex,  and  whatever  else  you 
can,  about  his  or  her  departed  relative.     Select 
from  your  numerous  negatives  one  that  corre 
sponds  to  the  late  lamented  as  nearly  as  may  be. 
Prepare  a  sensitive  plate.     Now  place  the  nega 
tive  against  it  and  hold  it  up  close  to  your  gas- 
lamp,  which  may  be  turned  up  pretty  high.     In 
this  way  you  get  a  foggy  copy  of  the  negative 
in  one  part  of  the  sensitive  plate,  which  you  can 
then  place  in  the  camera  and  take  your  flesh- 
and-blood  sitter's  portrait  upon  it  in  the  usual 
way.       An   appropriate   background   for   these 
pictures   is    a   view   of  the   asylum   for  feeble 
minded    persons,    the    group    of    buildings    at 
Somerville,    and   possibly,    if    the    penitentiary 
could  be   introduced,  the   hint  would   be   salu 
tary. 

The  number  of  amateur  artists  in  photogra 
phy  is  continually  increasing.  The  interest  we 
ourselves  have  taken  in  some  results  of  photo 
graphic  art  has  brought  us  under  a  weight  of 


DOINGS  OF  THE  SUNBEAM.          279 

obligation  to  many  of  them  which  we  can  hardly 
expect  to  discharge.  Some  of  the  friends  in 
our  immediate  neighborhood  have  sent  us  pho 
tographs  of  their  own  making,  which,  for  clear 
ness  and  purity  of  tone,  compare  favorably  with 
the  best  professional  work.  Among  our  more 
distant  correspondents  there  are  two  so  widely 
known  to  photographers  that  we  need  not  hesi 
tate  to  name  them :  Mr.  Coleman  Sellers  of 
Philadelphia  and  Mr.  S.  Wager  Hull  of  New 
York.  Many  beautiful  specimens  of  photo 
graphic  art  have  been  sent  us  by  these  gentle 
men,  —  among  others,  some  exquisite  views  of 
Sunnyside  and  of  the  scene  of  Ichabod  Crane's 
adventures.  Mr.  Hull  has  also  furnished  us 
with  a  full  account  of  the  dry  process,  as  fol 
lowed  by  him,  and  from  which  he  brings  out 
results  hardly  surpassed  by  any  method. 

A  photographic  intimacy  between  two  per 
sons  who  never  saw  each  other's  faces  (that  is, 
in  Nature's  original  positive,  the  principal  use 
of  which,  after  all,  is  to  furnish  negatives  from 
which  portraits  may  be  taken)  is  a  new  form 
of  friendship.  After  an  introduction  by  means 


280          DOINGS  OF  THE  SUNBEAM. 

of  a  few  views  of  scenery  or  other  impersonal 
objects,  with  a  letter  or  two  of  explanation,  the 
artist  sends  his  own  presentment,  not  in  the  stiff 
shape  of  a  purchased  carte  de  visite,  but  as  seen 
in  his  own  study  or  parlor,  surrounded  by  the 
domestic  accidents  which  so  add  to  the  individ 
uality  of  the  student  or  the  artist.  You  see 
him  at  his  desk  or  table  with  his  books  and 
stereoscopes  round  him ;  you  notice  the  lamp  by 
which  he  reads,  —  the  objects  lying  about ;  you 
guess  his  condition,  whether  married  or  single  ; 
you  divine  his  tastes,  apart  from  that  which  he 
has  in  common  with  yourself.  By  and  by,  as 
he  warms  towards  you,  he  sends  you  the  pic 
ture  of  what  lies  next  to  his  heart,  —  a  lovely 
boy,  for  instance,  such  as  laughs  upon  us  in  the 
delicious  portrait  on  which  we  are  now  looking, 
or  an  old  homestead,  fragrant  with  all  the  roses 
of  his  dead  summers,  caught  in  one  of  Nature's 
loving  moments,  with  the  sunshine  gilding  it 
like  the  light  of  his  own  memory.  And  so  these 
shadows  have  made  him,  with  his  outer  and 
his  inner  life,  a  reality  for  you ;  and  but  for  his 
voice,  which  you  have  never  heard?  you  know 


DOINGS  OF  THE   SUNBEAM.          281 

him  better  than  hundreds  who  call  him  by 
name,  as  they  meet  him  year  after  year,  and 
reckon  him  among  their  familiar  acquaintances. 
To  all  these  friends  of  ours,  those  whom  we 
have  named,  and  not  less  those  whom  we  have 
silently  remembered,  we  send  our  grateful  ac 
knowledgments.  They  have  never  allowed  the 
interest  we  have  long  taken  in  the  miraculous 
art  of  photography  to  slacken.  Though  not 
one  of  them  may  learn  anything  from  this  sim 
ple  account  we  have  given,  they  will  perhaps 
allow  that  it  has  a  certain  value  for  less  instruct 
ed  readers,  in  consequence  of  its  numerous  and 
rich  omissions  of  much  which,  however  valua 
ble,  is  not  at  first  indispensable. 


THE    HUMAN    WHEEL,    ITS    SPOKES 
AND    FELLOES. 


THE  starting-point  of  this  paper  was  a  de 
sire  to  call  attention  to  certain  remarkable 
AMERICAN  INVENTIONS,  especially  to  one  class, 
of  mechanical  contrivances,  which,  at  the  pres 
ent  time,  assumes  a  vast  importance  and  inter- 


THE  HUMAN   WHEEL.  283 

ests  great  multitudes.  The  limbs  of  our  friends 
and  countrymen  are  a  part  of  the  melancholy 
harvest  which  War  is  sweeping  down  with 
Dahlgren's  mowing-machine  and  the  patent 
reapers  of  Springfield  and  Hartford.  The  ad 
mirable  contrivances  of  an  American  inventor, 
prized  as  they  were  in  ordinary  times,  have 
risen  into  the  character  of  great  national  bless 
ings  since  the  necessity  for  them  has  become 
so  widely  felt.  While  the  weapons  that  have 
gone  from  Mr.  Colt's  armories  have  been  carry 
ing  death  to  friend  and  foe,  the  beneficent  and 
ingenious  inventions  of  MR.  PALMER  have  been 
repairing  the  losses  inflicted  by  the  implements 
of  war. 

The  study  of  the  artificial  limbs  which  owe 
their  perfection  to  his  skill  and  long-continued 
labor  has  led  us  a  little  beyond  its  first  object, 
and  finds  its  natural  prelude  in  some  remarks  on 
the  natural  limbs  and  their  movements.  Ac 
cident  directed  our  attention,  while  engaged 
with  this  subject,  to  the  efforts  of  another 
ingenious  American*  to  render  the  use  of  our 
lower  extremities  easier  by  shaping  their  arti- 


284  .  THE  HUMAN  WHEEL, 

ficial  coverings  more  in  accordance  with  their 
true  form  than  is  done  by  the  empirical  cord- 
wainer,  and  thus  Dr.  Plumer  must  submit  to 
the  coupling  of  some  mention  of  his  praiseworthy 
efforts  in  the  same  pages  with  the  striking 
achievements  of  his  more  aspiring  compatriot. 
We  should  not  tell  the  whole  truth,  if  we  did 
not  own  that  we  have  for  a  long  time  been  lying 
in  wait  for  a  chance  to  say  something  about  the 
mechanism  of  walking,  because  we  thought  we 
could  add  something  to  what  is  known  about  it 
from  a  new  source,  accessible  only  within  the 
last  few  years,  and  never,  so  far  as  we  know, 
employed  for  its  elucidation,  namely,  the  instan 
taneous  photograph. 

The  two  accomplishments  common  to  all  man 
kind  are  walking  and  talking.  Simple  as  they 
seem,  they  are  yet  acquired  with  vast  labor,  and 
very  rarely  understood  in  any  clear  way  by 
those  who  practise  them  with  perfect  ease  and 
unconscious  skill. 

Talking  seems  the  hardest  to  comprehend. 
Yet  it  has  been  clearly  explained  and  success- 


ITS  SPOKES  AND  FELLOES.          285 

fully  imitated  by  artificial  contrivances.  "We 
know  that  the  moist  membranous  edges  of  a 
narrow  crevice  (the  glottis)  vibrate  as  the  reed 
of  a  clarionet  vibrates,  and  thus  produce  the 
human  Heat.  We  narrow  or  widen  or  check  or 
stop  the  flow  of  this  sound  by  the  lips,  the 
tongue,  the  teeth,  and  thus  articulate,  or  break 
into  joints,  the  even  current  of  sound.  The 
sound  varies  with  the  degree  and  kind  of  inter 
ruption,  as  the  "babble"  of  the  brook  with  the 
shape  and  size  of  its  impediments,  —  pebbles,  or 
rocks,  or  dams.  To  whisper  is  to  articulate 
without  Heating,  or  vocalizing ;  to  coo  as  babies 
do  is  to  bleat  or  vocalize  without  articulating  ' 

O 

Machines  are  easily  made  that  bleat  not  unlike 
human  beings.  A  bit  of  India-rubber  tube  tied 
round  a  piece  of  glass  tube  is  one  of  the  simplest 
voice-uttering  contrivances.  To  make  a  ma 
chine  that  articulates  is  not  so  easy ;  but  we 
remember  Maelzel's  wooden  children,  which 
said,  "  Pa-pa  "  and  "  Ma-ma  "  ;  and  more  elab 
orate  and  successful  speaking  machines  have,  we 
believe,  been  since  constructed. 

But  no  man  has  been  able  to  make  a  figure 


286  THE  HUMAN   WHEEL, 

that  can  walk.  Of  all  the  automata  imitating 
men  or  animals  moving,  there  is  not  one  in 
which  the  legs  are  the  true  sources  of  motion. 
So  said  the  Webers  *  more  than  twenty  years 
ago,  and  it  is  as  true  now  as  then.  These 
authors,  after  a  profound  experimental  and 
mathematical  investigation  of  the  mechanism 
of  animal  locomotion,  recognize  the  fact  that  our 
knowledge  is  not  yet  so  far  advanced  that  we 
can  hope  to  succeed  in  making  real  walking 
machines.  But  they  conceive  that  the  time 
may  come  hereafter  when  colossal  figures  will 
be  constructed  whose  giant  strides  will  not  be 
arrested  by  the  obstacles  which  are  impassable 
to  wheeled  conveyances. 

We  wish  to  give  our  readers  as  clear  an  idea" 
as  possible  of  that  wonderful  art  of  balanced 
vertical  progression  which  they  have  practised, 
as  M.  Jourdain  talked  prose,  for  so  many  years, 
without  knowing  what  a  marvellous  accomplish 
ment  they  had  mastered.  We  shall  have  to 
begin  with  a  few  simple  anatomical  data. 

*  Traits  de  la  Mechanique  de$  Organes  de  la  Locomotion. 
Translated  from  the  German  in  the  Encyclopedie  Anatomique. 
Paris,  1843. 


ITS  SPOKES  AND  FELLOES.          287 

The  foot  is  arched  both  longitudinally  and 
transversely,  so  as  to  give  it  elasticity,  and  thus 
break  the  sudden  shock  when  the  weight  of  the 
body  is  thrown  upon  it.  The  ankle-joint  is  a 
loose  hinge,  and  the  great  muscles  of  the  calf 
can  straighten  the  foot  out  so  far  that  practised 
dancers  walk  on  the  tips  of  their  toes.  The 
knee  is  another  hinge-joint,  which  allows  the  leg 
to  bend  freely,  but  not  to  be  carried  beyond  a 
straight  line  in  the  other  direction.  Its  further 
forward  movement  is  checked  by  two  very  pow 
erful  cords  in  the  interior  of  the  joint,  which 
cross  each  other  like  the  letter  X,  and  are  hence 
called  the  crucial  ligaments.  The  upper  ends  of 
the  thigh-bones  are  almost  globes,  which  are 
received  into  the  deep  cup-like  cavities  of  the 
haunch-bones.  They  are  tied  to  these  last  so 
loosely,  that,  if  their  ligaments  alone  held  them, 
they  would  be  half  out  of  their  sockets  in  many" 
positions  of  the  lower  limbs.  But  here  comes 
in  a  simple  and  admirable  contrivance.  The 
smooth,  rounded  head  of  the  thigh-bone,  moist 
with  glairy  fluid,  fits  so  perfectly  into  the  smooth, 
rounded  cavity  which  receives  it,  that  it  holds 


288  THE  HUMAN   WHEEL, 

firmly  by  suction,  or  atmospheric  pressure.  It 
takes  a  hard  pull  to  draw  it  out  after  all  the  lig 
aments  are  cut,  and  then  it  comes  with  a  smack 
like  a  tight  cork  from  a  bottle.  Holding  in  this 
way  by  the  close  apposition  of  two  polished  sur 
faces,  the  lower  extremity  swings  freely  forward 
and  backward  like  a  pendulum,  if  we  give  it  a 
chance,  as  is  shown  by  standing  on  a  chair  upon 
the  other  limb,  and  moving  the  pendent  one  out 
of  the  vertical  line.  The  force  with  which  it 
swings  depends  upon  its  weight,  and  this  is  much 
greater  than  we  might  at  first  suppose  ;  for  our 
limbs  not  only  carry  themselves,  but  our  bodies 
also,  with  a  sense  of  lightness  rather  than  of 
weight,  when  we  are  in  good  condition.  Acci 
dent  sometimes  makes  us  aware  how  heavy  our 
limbs  are.  An  officer,  whose  arm  was  shattered 
by  a  ball  in  one  of  our  late  battles,  told  us  that 
the  dead  weight  of  the  helpless  member  seemed 
to  drag  him  down  to  the  earth  ;  he  could  hardly 
carry  it ;  it  "  weighed  a  ton,"  to  his  feeling,  as 
he  said. 

In  ordinary  walking  a  man's  lower  extremity 
swings  essentially  by  its  own  weight,  requiring 


ITS  SPOKES  AND  FELLOES.          289 

little  muscular  effort  to  help  it.  So  heavy  a 
body  easily  overcomes  all  impediments  from 
clothing,  even  in  the  sex  least  favored  in  its  cos 
tume.  But  if  a  man's  legs  are  pendulums,  then 
a  short  man's  legs  will  swing  quicker  than  a  tall 
man's,  and  he  will  take  more  steps  to  a  minute, 
other  things  being  equal.  Thus  there  is  a  nat 
ural  rhythm  to  a  man's  walk,  depending  on  the 
length  of  his  legs,  which  beat  more  or  less  rap 
idly  as  they  are  longer  or  shorter,  like  metro 
nomes  differently  adjusted,  or  the  pendulums  of 
different  time-keepers.  Commodore  Nutt  is  to 
M.  Bihin  in  this  respect  as  a  little,  fast-ticking 
mantel-clock  is  to  an  old-fashioned,  solemn- 
clicking,  upright  time-piece. 

The  mathematical  formula  in  which  the 
Messrs.  Weber  embody  their  results  would 
hardly  be  instructive  to  most  of  our  readers. 
The  figures  of  their  Atlas  would  serve  our  pur 
pose  better,  had  we  not  the  means  of  coming 
nearer  to  the  truth  '  than  even  their  careful 
studies  enabled  them  to  do.  We  have  selected 
a  number  of  instantaneous  stereoscopic  views  of 
the  streets  and  public  places  of  Paris  and  of 

13  8 


290  THE  HUMAN  WHEEL, 

New  York,  each  of  them  showing  numerous 
walking  figures,  among  which  some  may  be 
found  in  every  stage  of  the  complex  act  we  are 
studying.  Mr.  Darley  has  had  the  kindness  to 
leave  his  higher  tasks  to  transfer  several  of  these 
to  our  pages,  so  that  the  reader  may  be  sure 
that  he  looks  upon  an  exact  copy  of  real  human 
individuals  in  the  act  of  walking. 


Fig.  1. 

The   first   subject   is    caught   with   his    legs 
stretched  in  a  stride,  the  remarkable  length  of 


ITS  SPOKES  AND  FELLOES.          291 

which  arrests  our  attention.  The  sole  of  the 
right  foot  is  almost  vertical.  By  the  action  of 
the  muscles  of  the  calf  it  has  rolled  off  from  the 
ground  like  a  portion  of  the  tire  of  a  wheel,  the 
heel  rising  first,  and  thus  the  body,  already 
advancing  with  all  its  acquired  velocity,  and 
inclined  forward,  has  been  pushed  along,  and, 
as  it  were,  tipped  over,  so  as  to  fall  upon  the 
other  foot,  now  ready  to  receive  its  weight. 


Fig.  2. 

In  the  second  figure,  the  right  leg.  is  bend 
ing   at   the   knee,  so   as  to  lift   the   foot   from 


292  THE  HUMAN  WHEEL, 

the   ground,   in   order   that   it  may  swing  for- 

• 

ward. 


Fig.  3. 

The  next  stage  of  movement  is  shown  in  the 
left  leg  of  Figure  3.  This  leg  is  seen  suspend 
ed  in  air,  a  little  beyond  the  middle  of  the 
arc  through  which  it  swings,  and  before  it  has 
straightened  itself,  which  it  will  presently  do,  as 
shown  in  the  next  figure. 

The  foot  has  now  swung  forward,  and  tend 
ing  to  swing  back  again,  the  limb  being  straight 
ened,  and  the  body  tipped  forward,  the  heel 


ITS  SPOKES  AND  FELLOES.          293 

strikes  the  ground.     The  angle  which  the  sole 


Fig.  4. 

of  the  foot  forms  with  the  ground  increases  with 
the  length  of  the  stride  ;  and  as  this  last  sur 
prised  us,  so  the  extent  of  this  angle  astonishes 
us  in  many  of  the  figures,  in  this  among  the 
rest. 

The  heel  strikes  the  ground  with  great  force, 
as  the  wear  of  our  boots  and  shoes  in  that  part 
shows  us.  But  the  projecting  heel  of  the  hu 
man  foot  is  the  arm  of  a  lever,  having  the  ankle- 


294  THE  HUMAN   WHEEL, 

joint  as  its  fulcrum,  and,  as  it  strikes  the  ground, 
brings  the  sole  of  the  foot  down  flat  upon  it,  as 
shown  in  Figure  1.  At  the  same  time  the 
weight  of  the  limb  and  body  is  thrown  upon  the 
foot,  by  the  joint  effect  of  muscular  action  and 
acquired  velocity,  and  the  other  foot  is  now 
ready  to  rise  from  the  ground  and  repeat  the 
process  we  have  traced  in  its  fellow. 

No  artist  would  have  dared  to  draw  a  walk 
ing  figure  in  attitudes  like  some  of  these.  The 
swinging  limb  is  so  much  shortened  that  the  toe 
never  by  any  accident  scrapes  the  ground,  if  this 
is  tolerably  even.  In  cases  of  partial  paralysis, 
the  scraping  of  the  toe,  as  the  patient  walks,  is 
one  of  the  characteristic  marks  of  imperfect 
muscular  action. 

Walking,  then,  is  a  perpetual  falling  with  a 
perpetual  self-recovery.  It  is  a  most  complex, 
violent,  and  perilous  operation,  which  we  divest 
of  its  extreme  danger  only  by  continual  practice 
from  a  very  early  period  of  life.  We  find  how 
complex  it  is  when  we  attempt  to  analyze  it, 
and  we  see  that  we  never  understood  it  thor 
oughly  until  the  time  of  the  instantaneous  pho- 


ITS  SPOKES  AND  FELLOES.          295 

tograph.  We  learn  how  violent  it  is,  when  we 
walk  against  a  post  or  a  door  in  the  dark.  We 
discover  how  dangerous  it  is,  when  we  slip  or 
trip  and  come  down,  perhaps  breaking  or  dislo 
cating  our  limbs,  or  overlook  the  last  step  of  a 
flight  of  stairs,  and  discover  with  what  headlong 
violence  we  have  been  hurling  ourselves  for 
ward. 

Two  curious  facts  are  easily  proved.  First, 
a  man  is  shorter  when  he  is  walking  than  when 
at  rest.  We  have  found  a  very  simple  way  of 
showing  this  by  having  a  rod  or  yardstick  placed 
horizontally,  so  as  to  touch  the  top  of  the  head 
forcibly,  as  we  stand  under  it.  In  walking  rap 
idly  beneath  it,  even  if  the  eyes  are  shut,  to 
avoid  involuntary  stooping,  the  top  of  the  head 
will  not  even  graze  the  rod.  The  other  fact  is, 
that  one  side  of  a  man  always  tends  to  outwalk 
the  other,  so  that  no  person  can  walk  far  in  a 
straight  line,  if  he  is  blindfolded. 

The  somewhat  singular  illustration  at  the 
head  of  our  article  carries  out  an  idea  which 
has  only  been  partially  alluded  to  by  others. 
Man  is  a  wheel,  with  two  spokes,  his  legs,  and 


296  THE  HUMAN   WHEEL, 

two  fragments  of  a  tire,  his  feet.  He  rolls  suc 
cessively  on  each  of  these  fragments  from  the 
heel  to  the  toe.  If  he  had  spokes  enough,  he 
would  go  round  and  round  as  the  boys  do  when 
they  "  make  a  wheel  "  with  their  four  limbs  for 
its  spokes.  But  having  only  two  available  for 
ordinary  locomotion,  each  of  these  has  to  be 
taken  up  as  soon  as  it  has  been  used,  and  carried 
forward  to  be  used  again,  and  so  alternately  with 
the  pair.  The  peculiarity  of  biped-walking  is, 
that  the  centre  of  gravity  is  shifted  from  one 
leg  to  the  other,  and  the  one  not  employed  can 
shorten  itself  so  as  to  swing  forward,  passing 
by  that  which  supports  the  body. 

This  is  just  what  no  automaton  can  do.  Many 
of  our  readers  have,  however,  seen  a  young  lady 
in  the  shop  windows,  or  entertained  her  in  their 
own  nurseries,  who  professes  to  be  this  hitherto 
impossible  walking  automaton,  and  who  calls 
herself  by  the  Homeric-sounding  epithet  Auto- 
peripatetikos.  The  golden-booted  legs  of  this 
young  lady  remind  us  of  Miss  Kilmansegg, 
while  the  size  of  her  feet  assures  us  that  she  is 
not  in  any  way  related  to  Cinderella.  On  be- 


ITS    SPOKES  AND  FELLOES.          297 

ing  wound  up,  as  if  she  were  a  piece  of  machin 
ery,  and  placed  on  a  level  surface,  she  proceeds 
to  toddle  off,  taking  very  short  steps,  like  a 
child,  holding  herself  very  stiff  and  straight,  with 
a  little  lifting  at  each  step,  and  all  this  with  a 
mighty  inward  whirring  and  buzzing  of  the  en 
ginery  which  constitutes  her  muscular  system. 

An  autopsy  of  one  of  her  family  who  fell 
into  our  hands  reveals  the  secret  springs  of  her 
action.  Wishing  to  spare  her  as  a  member  of 
the  defenceless  sex,  it  pains  us  to  say,  that,  in 
genious  as  her  counterfeit  walking  is,  she  is  an 
impostor.  Worse  than  this,  —  with  all  our  rev 


erence  for  her  brazen  crinoline,  duty  compels  us 
to  reveal  a  fact  concerning  her  which  will  shock 


13* 


298  THE  HUMAN  WHEEL, 

the  feelings  of  those  who  have  watched  the  state 
ly  rigidity  of  decorum  with  which  she  moves 
in  the  presence  of  admiring  multitudes.  She  is 
a  quadruped!  Inside  of  her  great  golden  boots, 
which  represent  one  pair  of  feet,  is  another 
smaller  pair,  which  move  freely  through  these 
hollow  casings. 

Four  cams  or  eccentric  wheels  impart  motion 
to  her  four  supports,  by  which  she  is  carried 
forward,  always  resting  on  two  of  them, —the 
boot  of  one  side  and  the  foot  of  the  other.    Her 
movement,  then,  is  not  walking ;  it  is  not  skat 
ing,   which  it  seems  to  resemble;   it   is  more 
like  that  of  a  person  walking  with  two  crutches 
besides  his  two  legs.     The  machinery  is  simple 
enough  ;   a  strong  spiral  spring,  three   or  four 
cog-wheels  and  pinions,  a  fly  to  regulate  the  mo 
tion,  as  in  a  musical  box,  and  the  cams  before 
mentioned.     As  a  toy,  it  or  she  is  very  taking 
to  grown  people  as  well  as  children.     It  is  a  lit! 
eral  fact,  that  the  police  requested  one  of  our 
dealers  to  remove  Miss  Autoperipatetikos  from 
his  window,  because  the  crowd  she  drew  ob 
structed  the  sidewalk. 


ITS    SPOKES  AND  FELLOES.          299 

We  see  by  our  analysis  of  the  process,  and  by 
the  difficulty  of  imitating  it,  that  walking  is  a 
much  more  delicate,  perilous,  complicated  opera 
tion  than  we  should  suppose,  and  well  worth 
studying  in  a  practical  point  of  view,  to  see  what 
can  be  done  to  make  it  easier  and  safer.  Two 
Americans  have  applied  themselves  to  this  task : 
one  laboring  for  those  who  possess  their  lower 
limbs  and  want  to  use  them  to  advantage,  the 
other  for  such  as  have  had  the  misfortune  to 
lose  one  or  both  of  them. 

Dr.  J.  C.  Plumer,  formerly  of  Portland,  now 
of  Boston,  has  devoted  himself  to  the  study  of 
the  foot,  and  to  the  construction  of  a  last  upon 
which  a  boot  or  shoe  can  be  moulded  which 
shall  be  adapted  to  its  form  and  accommodated 
to  its  action. 

Most  persons  know  something  of  the  cruel 
injustice  to  which  the  feet  are  subjected,  and  the 
extraordinary  distortions  and  diseases  to  which 
they  are  liable  in  consequence.  The  foot's  fin 
gers  are  the  slaves  in  the  republic  of  the  body. 
Their  black  leathern  integument  is  only  the 
mark  of  their  servile  condition.  They  bear  the 


300  THE  HUMAN   WHEEL, 

burdens,  while  the  hands,  their  white  masters, 
handle  the  money  and  wear  the  rings.  They 
are  crowded  promiscuously  in  narrow  prisons, 
while  each  of  the  hand's  fingers  claims  its  sep 
arate  apartment,  leading  from  the  antechamber, 
in  the  dainty  glove.  As  a  natural  consequence 
of  all  this,  their  faculties  are  cramped,  they  grow 
into  ignoble  shapes,  they  become  callous  by  long 
abuse,  and  all  their  natural  gifts  are  crushed  and 
trodden  out  of  them. 

Dr.  Plumer  is  the  Garrison  of  these  op 
pressed  members  of  the  body  corporeal.  He 
comes  to  break  their  chains,  to  lift  their  bowed 
figures,  to  strengthen  their  weakness,  to  restore 
them  to  the  dignity  of  digits.  To  do  this,  he 
begins  where  every  sensible  man  would,  by  con 
templating  the  natural  foot  as  it  appears  in  in 
fancy,  unspoiled  as  yet  by  social  corruptions,  in 
adults  fortunate  enough  to  have  escaped  these 
destructive  influences,  and  in  the  grim  skeleton 
aspect  divested  of  its  outward  disguises.  We 
will  give  the  reader  two  views  of  the  latter 
kind,  illustrating  the  longitudinal  and  transverse 
arches  before  spoken  of. 


ITS    SPOKES  AND  FELLOES.          301 


A  man  who  walks  on  natural  surfaces,  with 
his  feet  unprotected  by  any  artificial  defences, 
calls  the  action  of  these  arches  into  full  play  at 
every  step.  The  longitudinal  arch  is  the  most 
strikingly  marked  of  the  two.  In  some  races 
and  in  certain  individuals  it  is  much  developed, 
so  as  to  give  the  high  instep  which  is  prized  as 
an  evidence  of  good  blood.  The  Arab  says  that 
a  stream  of  water  can  flow  under  his  foot  with 
out  touching  its  sole.  Under  the  conditions 
supposed,  of  a  naked  foot  on  a  natural  surface, 
the  arches  of  the  foot  will  commonly  maintain 
their  integrity,  and  give  the  noble  savage  or 
barefooted  Scotch  lassie  the  elasticity  of  gait 
which  we  admire  in  the  children  of  Nature. 

But  as  a  large  portion  of  mankind  tread  on 
artificial  hard  surfaces,  especially  pavements, 


302  THE  HUMAN   WHEEL, 

their  feet  are  subjected  to  a  very  unnatural 
amount  of  wear  and  tear.  How  great  this  is 
the  inhabitants  of  cities  are  apt  to  forget.  After 
passing  some  months  in  the  country,  we  have 
repeatedly  found  ourselves  terribly  lamed  and 
shaken  by  our  first  walk  on  the  pavement.  A 
party  of  city-folk  who  landed  on  a  beach  upon 
Cape  Cod  complained  greatly  to  one  of  the 
natives  accompanying  them  of  the  difficulty  of 
walking  through  the  deep  sand.  "  Ah,"  he 
answered,  "it's  nothing  to  the  trouble  I  have 
walking  on  your  city  sidewalks."  To  save  the 
feet  from  the  effects  of  violent  percussion  and 
uneven  surfaces,  they  must  be  protected  by 
thick  soles,  and  thick  soles  require  strong  upper- 
leather.  When  the  foot  is  wedged  into  one  of 
these  casings,  a  new  boot,  a  struggle  begins  be 
tween  them,  which  ends  in  a  compromise.  The 
foot  becomes  more  or  less  compressed  or  de 
formed,  and  the  boot  more  or  less  stretched 
at  the  points  where  the  counter-pressure  takes 
place. 

On  the  part  of  the  foot,  the  effects  of  this 
warfare  are  liable  to  show  themselves  in  thick- 


ITS    SPOKES  AXD  FELLOES.          303 

ening  and  inflammation  of  the  integuments,  in 
displacement  of  the  toes,  and  occasionally  in  the 
breaking  down  of  the  transverse  or  longitudinal 
arches.  On  the  part  of  the  boot  or  shoe,  there 
is  a  gradual  accommodation  which  in  time  fits 
it  to  the  foot  almost  as  if  it  had  been  moulded 
upon  it,  so  that  a  little  before  it  is  worn  out  it 
is  invaluable,  like  other  blessings  brightening 
before  they  take  their  flight. 

Now  Dr.  Plumer's  improvements  proceed 
from  two  series  of  data.  First,  certain  theo 
retical  inferences  from  the  facts  above  named. 
Finding  the  arches  liable  to  break  down,  he 
supports  the  transverse  arch  by  making  the  in» 
ner  surface  of  the  sole  corresponding  to  it  con 
vex  instead  of  concave  transversely ;  he  makes 
the  middle  portion  of  the  sole  convex  again  in 
both  directions  to  support  the  longitudinal  arch, 
and  for  the  same  reason  extends  the  heel  of  the 
boot  or  shoe  forward,  so  as  to  support  the  ante 
rior  portion  of  the  heel  of  the  foot.  kSecond/y, 
Dr.  Plumer  takes  an  old  shoe  that  has  done 
good  service,  and  studies  the  reliefs  and  hollows 
which  the  foot  has  shaped  on  the  inner  surface 


304  THE  HUMAN   WHEEL, 

of  its  sole.  Comparing  the  empirical  results  of 
this  examination  with  those  based  on  the  ana 
tomical  data  above  given,  and  finding  a  general 
coincidence  in  them,  he  constructs  his  last  in 
accordance  with  their  joint  teachings.  Theo 
retically,  Dr.  Plumer  is  on  somewhat  dangerous 
ground.  If  the  arches  of  the  foot  are  made  to 
yield  like  elliptical  springs,  why  support  them  ? 
But  we  subject  them  to  such  unnatural  condi 
tions  by  pressure  from  above  over  the  instep,  by 
adding  high  heels  to  our  boots  and  shoes,  by 
taking  away  all  yielding  qualities  from  the  soil 
on  which  we  tread,  that  very  probably  they 
may  want  artificial  support  as  much  as  the  soles 
of  the  feet  want  artificial  protection.  If,  now, 
we  find  that  an  old,  easy  shoe  has  worked  the 
inside  surface  of  its  sole  into  convexities  which 
support  the  arches,  we  are  safe  in  imitating  that, 
at  any  rate.  We  shall  have  a  new  shoe  with 
some,  at  least,  of  the  virtues  of  the  old  one. 

This  aU  sounds  very  well,  and  the  next  ques 
tion  is,  whether  it  works  well.  We  cannot  but 
remember  the  coat  made  for  Mr.  Gulliver  by 
the  Laputan  tailors,  which,  though  projected 


ITS   SPOKES  AND  FELLOES.          305 

from  the  most  refined  geometrical  data  and  the 
most  profound  calculations,  he  found  to  be  the 
worst  fit  he  ever  put  on  his  back.  We  must 
ask  those  who  have  eaten  the  pudding  how  it 
tastes,  and  those  who  have  worn  the  shoe  how 
it  wears.  We  have  no  satisfactory  experience 
of  our  own,  having  only  within  a  week  or  two, 
by  mere  accident,  stumbled  into  a  pair  of  Plu- 
merian  boots,  and  being  thus  led  to  look  into  a 
matter  which  seemed  akin  to  the  main  subject 
of  this  paper.  But  the  author  of  "Views 
Afoot,"  who  ought  to  be  a  sovereign  authority 
on  ah1  that  interests  pedestrians,  confirms  from 
his  own  experience  the  favorable  opinions  ex 
pressed  by  several  of  our  most  eminent  physi 
cians,  after  an  examination  of  the  principles  of 
construction.  We  are  informed  that  the  Plumer 
last  has  been  recently  adopted  for  the  use  of  the 
army.  We  add  our  own  humble  belief  that  Dr. 
Plumer  deserves  well  of  mankind  for  applying 
sound  anatomical  principles  to  the  construction 
of  coverings  for  the  feet,  and  for  contriving  a 
last  serving  as  a  model  for  a  boot  or  shoe  which 
is  adapted  to  the  form  of  the  foot  from  the  first, 


306 


THE  HUMAN   WHEEL, 


instead  of  having  to  be  broken  in  by  a  painful 
series  of  limping  excursions,  too  often  accompa 
nied  by  impatient  and  even  profane  utterances. 
." 

It  is  not  two  years  since  the  sight  of  a  person 
who  had  lost  one  of  his  lower  limbs  was  an  in 
frequent  occurrence.  Now,  alas  !  there  are  few 
of  us  who  have  not  a  cripple  among  our  friends, 
if  not  in  our  own  families.  A  mechanical  art 
which  provided  for  an  occasional  and  excep 
tional  want  has  become  a  great  and  active 
branch  of  industry.  War  unmakes  legs,  and 
human  skill  must  supply  their  places  as  it  best 
may. 

Our  common  idea  of  a  wooden  leg  is  realized 
in  the  "peg"  of  the  Greenwich  pensioner. 
This  simple  contrivance  has  done  excellent 
service  in  its  time,  and  may  serve  a  good  pur 
pose  still  in  some  cases.  A  plain  working-man, 
who  has  outlived  his  courting-days  and  need  not 
sacrifice  much  to  personal  appearance,  may  find 
an  honest,  old  fashioned  wooden  leg,  cheap,  last 
ing,  requiring  no  repairs,  the  best  thing  for  his 
purpose.  In  higher  social  positions,  and  at  an 


ITS    SPOKES  AND  FELLOES.          307 

age  when  appearances  are  realities,  in  the  condi 
tion  of  the  Marquis  of  Anglesea,  for  instance,  it 
becomes  important  to  provide  the  cripple  with  a 
limb  which  shall  be  presentable  in  polite  society, 
where  misfortunes  of  a  certain  obtrusiveness 
may  be  pitied,  but  are  never  tolerated  under  the 
chandeliers. 

The  leg  invented  by  Mr.  Potts,  and  bearing 
the  name  of  the  "  Anglesea  leg,"  was  long 
famous,  and  dotfbtless  merited  the  reputation  it 
acquired  as  superior  to  its  predecessors.  But 
legs  cannot  remain  stationary  while  the  march 
of  improvement  goes  on  around  them,  and  they, 
too,  have  moved  onward  with  the  stride  of 
progress. 

A  boy  of  ten  years  old,  living  in  a  New 
Hampshire  village,  had  one  of  his  legs  crushed 
so  as  to  require  amputation.  The  little  fellow 
was  furnished  with  a  "  peg,"  and  stumped 
round  upon  it  for  ten  years.  We  can  imagine 
what  he  suffered  as  he  grew  into  adolescence 
under  the  cross  of  this  unsightly  appendage. 
He  was  of  comely  aspect,  tall,  well-shaped,  with 
well-marked,  regular  features.  But  just  at  the 


308  THE  HUMAN   WHEEL, 

period  when  personal  graces  are  most  valued, 
when  a  good  presence  is  a  blank  check  on  the 
Bank  of  Fortune,  with  Nature's  signature  at  the 
bottom,  he  found  himself  made  hideous  by  this 
fearful-looking  counterfeit  of  a  limb.  It  an 
nounced  him  at  the  threshold  he  reached  with 
beating  heart  by  a  thump  more  energetic  than 
the  palpitation  in  his  breast.  It  identified  him 
as  far  as  the  eye  of  jealousy  could  see  his  moving 
figure.  The  «  peg  "  became  intolerable,  and  he 
unstrapped  it,  and  threw  himself  on  the  tender 
mercies  of  the  crutch. 

But  the  crutch  is  at  best  an  instrument  of  tor 
ture.  It  presses  upon  a  great  bundle  of  nerves  ; 
it  distorts  the  figure ;  it  stamps  a  character  of 
its  own  upon  the  whole  organism  ;  it  is  even 
accused  of  distempering  the  mind  itself. 

This  young  man,  whose  name  was  "B.  FRANK. 
PALMER,"  (the  abbreviations  probably  implying 
the  name  of  a  distinguished  Boston  philosopher 
of  the  last  century,  whose  visit  to  Philadelphia 
is  still  remembered  in  that  city,)  set  himself  at 
work  to  contrive  a  limb  which  should  take  the 
place  of  the  one  he  had  lost,  fulfilling  its  func- 


ITS    SPOKES  AND  FELLOES.          309 

tions  and  counterfeiting  its  aspect  so  far  as  possi 
ble.     The  result  was  the  "  Palmer  leg,"  one  of 
the  most  unquestionable  triumphs  of  American 
ingenuity.     Its  victorious  march  has  been  un 
impeded    by  any  serious  obstacle  since  it  first 
stepped  into  public  notice.     The  inventor  was 
introduced  by  the  late  Dr.  John  C.  Warren,  in 
1846,  to  the  Massachusetts   General    Hospital, 
which  institution  he  has  for  many  years  supplied 
with  his  artificial    limbs.     He  received   medals 
from  the  American  Institute,  the  Massachusetts 
Charitable  Association,  and  the  Great  Exhibi 
tion  in  New  York,  and  obtained  an  honorary 
mention  from  the  Royal  Commissioners  of  the 
World's  Exhibition  in  London,  —  being  the  only 
maker  of  legs  so  distinguished.     These  are  only 
a  few  of  fifty  honorary  awards  he  has  received 
at  various  times.     The  famous  surgeons  of  Lon 
don,  the   Societe    de    Chirurgie   of  Paris,   and 
the  most  celebrated  practitioners  of  the  United 
States  have  given  him  their  hearty  recommen 
dations.     So  lately  as  last  August,  that  shrewd 
and  skilful  surgeon,  Dr.  Henry  J.  Bigelow,  who 
is  as  cautious  in  handling  his  epithets  as  he  is 


810  THE   HUMAN   WHEEL, 

bold  in  using  the  implements  of  his  art,  strongly 
advised  Surgeon-General  Hammond  to  adopt 
the  Palmer  leg,  which,  after  a  dozen  years'  ex 
perience,  he  had  found  none  to  equal.  We  see 
it  announced  that  the  Board-  of  Surgeons  ap 
pointed  by  the  Surgeon-General  to  select  the 
best  arm  and  leg  to  be  procured  by  the  Govern 
ment  for  its  crippled  soldiers,  chose  that  of  Mr. 
Palmer,  and  that  Dr.  Hammond  approved  their 
selection. 

We  have  thought  it  proper  to  show  that  Mr. 
Palmer's  invention  did  not  stand  in  need  of  our 
commendation.  Its  merits,  as  we  have  seen,  are 
conceded  by  the  tribunals  best  fitted  to  judge, 
and  we  are  therefore  justified  in  selecting  it  as 
an  illustration  of  American  mechanical  skill. 

We  give  three  views  of  the  Palmer  leg :  an 
inside  view  when  extended,  a  second  when 
flexed,  a  third  as  it  appears  externally. 

The  Committee  on  Science  and  the  Arts  of 
the  Franklin  Institute  of  Pennsylvania  thus 
stated  the  peculiarities  of  Mr.  Palmer's  inven 
tion  :  — 

"  First.   An  ingenious  arrangement  of  springs 


ITS   SPOKES  AND  FELLOES.          311 


312  THE  HUMAN   WHEEL, 

and  cords  in  the  inside  of  the  limb,  by  which, 
when  the  wearer  is  in  the  erect  position,  the 
limb  is  extended,  and  the  foot  flexed  so  as  to 
present  a  natural  appearance. 

"  Second.  By  a  second  arrangement  of  cords 
and  springs  in  the  inside  of  the  limb,  the  foot 
and  toes  are  gradually  and  easily  extended,  when 
the  heel  is  placed  in  contact  with  the  ground. 
In  consequence  of  this  arrangement,  the  limping 
gait,  and  the  unpleasant  noise  made  by  the  sud 
den  stroke  of  the  ball  of  the  foot  upon  the 
ground  in  walking,  which  are  so  obvious  in  the 
ordinary  leg,  are  avoided. 

"  Third.  By  a  peculiar  arrangement  of  the 
knee-joint,  it  is  rendered  little  liable  to  wear, 
and  all  lateral  or  rotary  motion  is  avoided.  It 
is  hardly  necessary  to  remark  that  any  such 
motion  is  undesirable  in  an  artificial  leg,  as  it 
renders  its  support  unstable." 

Before  reporting  some  of  the  facts  which  we 
have  seen,  or  learned  by  personal  inquiry,  we 
must  be  allowed,  for  the  sake  of  convenience,  to 
exercise  the  privilege  granted  to  all  philosoph 
ical  students,  of  enlarging  the  nomenclature 


ITS   SPOKES  AND  FELLOES.          313 

applicable  to  the  subject  of  which  we  are  treat 
ing. 

Man,  according  to  the  Sphinx,  is  successively 
a  quadruped,  a  biped,  and  a  triped.  But  circum 
stances  may  change  his  natural  conditions.  If 
he  loses  a  leg,  he  becomes  a  uniped.  If  he  loses 
both  his  legs,  he  becomes  a  nulliped.  If  art  re 
places  the  loss  of  one  limb  with  a  factitious  sub 
stitute,  he  becomes  a  ligniped,  or,  if  we  wish  to 
be  very  precise,  a  uniligniped  ;  two  wooden  legs 
entitle  him  to  be  called  a  Uligniped.  Our  termi 
nology  being  accepted,  we  are  ready  to  proceed. 

To  make  ourselves  more  familiar  with  the 
working  of  the  invention  we  are  considering, 
we  have  visited  Mr.  Palmer's  establishments  in 
Philadelphia  and  Boston.  The  distinguished 
"  Surgeon-Artist "  is  a  man  of  fine  person,  as  we 
have  said.  But  if  he  has  any  personal  vanity, 
it  does  not  betray  itself  with  regard  to  that  por 
tion  of  his  organism  which  Nature  furnished  him. 
There  is  some  reason  to  think  that  Mr.  Palmer 
is  a  little  ashamed  of  the  lower  limb  which  he 
brought  into  the  world  with  him.  At  least,  if 
lie  follows  the  common  rule  and  puts  that  which 

14 


314  THE  HUMAN   WHEEL, 

he  considers  his  best  foot  foremost,  he  evidently 
awards  the  preference  to  that  which  was  born 
of  his  brain  over  the  one  which  he  owes  to  his 
mother.  He  walks  as  well  as  many  do  who 
have  their  natural  limbs,  though  not  so  well  as 
some  of  his  own  patients.  He  puts  his  vegeta 
ble  leg  through  many  of  the  movements  which 
would  seem  to  demand  the  contractile  animal 
fibre.  He  goes  up  and  down  stairs  with  very 
tolerable  ease  and  despatch.  Only  when  lie 
comes  to  stand  upon  the  human  limb,  we  begin 
to  find  that  it  is  not  in  all  respects  equal  to  the 
divine  one.  For  a  certain  number  of  seconds  he 
can  poise  himself  upon  it ;  but  Mr.  Palmer,  if 
he  indulges  in  verse,  would  hardly  fill  the  Ho- 
ratian  complement  of  lines  in  that  attitude.  In 
his  anteroom  were  unipeds  in  different  stages  of 
their  second  learning  to  walk,  as  lignipeds.  At 
first  they  move  with  a  good  deal  of  awkward 
ness,  but  gradually  the  wooden  limb  seems  to 
become,  as  it  were,  penetrated  by  the  nerves, 
and  the  intelligence  to  run  downwards,  until  it 
reaches  the  last  joint  of  the  member. 

Mr.    Palmer,  as  we  have  incidentally  men- 


ITS   SPOKES  AND  FELLOES.          315 

tioncd,  has  a  branch  establishment  in  Boston, 
to  which  also  we  have  paid  a  visit,  in  order  to 
learn  some  of  the  details  of  the  manufacture  to 
which  we  had  not  attended  in  our  pleasant  in 
terview  with  the  inventor.  The  antechamber 
here,  too,  was  the  nursery  of  immature  lio-ni- 
peds,  ready  to  exhibit  their  growing  accomplish 
ments  to  the  inquiring  stranger.  It  almost 
seems  as  if  the  artificial  leg  were  the  scholar, 
rather  than  the  person  who  wears  it.  The  man 
does  well  enough,  but  the  leg  is  stupid  until 
practice  has  taught  it  just  what  is  expected  from 
its  various  parts. 

The  polite  Boston  partner,  who,  if  he  were 
in  want  of  a  customer,  would  almost  persuade 
a  man  with  two  good  legs  to  provide  himself 
with  a  third,  carried  us  to  the  back  part  of  the 
building,  where  legs  are  organized. 

The  willow,  which  furnishes  the  charcoal  for 
the  gunpowder  that  blows  off  limbs,  is  the  wood 
chosen  to  supply  the  loss  it  has  helped  to  oc 
casion.  It  is  light,  strong,  does  not  warp  or 
"  check  "  so  much  as  many  other  woods,  and  is, 
as  the  workmen  say,  healthy,  that  is,  not  irri- 


316  THE  HUMAN   WHEEL, 

tating  to  the  parts  with  which  it  is  in  contact. 
Whether  the  salicine  it  may  contain  enters  the 
pores,  and  invigorates  the  system,  may  be  a 
question  for  those  who  remember  the  drugs  in 
the  Sultan's  bat-handle  and  the  remarkable  cure 
they  wrought.  This  wood  is  kept  in  a  dry- 
house  with  as  much  care  as  that  intended  for 
the  manufacture  of  pianos.  It  is  thoroughly 
steamed  also,  before  using. 

The  wood  comes  in  rudely  shaped  blocks,  as 
lasts  are  sent  to  the  factory,  seeming  to  have 
been  coarsejy  hewed  out  of  the  log.  The  shap 
ing,  as  we  found  to  our  surprise,  is  all  done  by 
hand.  We  had  expected  to  see  great  lathes, 
worked  by  steam-power,  taking  in  a  rough  stick 
and  turning  out  a  finished  limb.  But  it  is 
shaped  very  much  as  a  sculptor  finishes  his 
marble,  with  an  eye  to  artistic  effect, — not  so 
much  in  the  view  of  the  stranger,  who  does  not 
look  upon  its  naked  loveliness,  as  in  that  of 
the  wearer,  who  is  seduced  by  its  harmonious 
outlines  into  its  purchase,  and  solaced  with  the 
consciousness  that  he  carries  so  much  beauty 
and  symmetry  about  with  him.  The  hollowing- 


ITS   SPOKES  AND  FELLOES.          317 

out  of  the  interior  is  done  by  wicked-looking 
blades  and  scoops  at  the  end  of  long  stems,  sug 
gesting  the  thought  of  dentists'  instruments  as 
they  might  have  been  in  the  days  of  the  giants. 
The  joints  are  most  carefully  made,  more  par 
ticularly  at  the  knee,  where  a  strong  bolt  of 
steel  passes  through  the  solid  wood.  Windows, 
oblong  openings,  are  left  in  the  sides  of  the  limb, 
to  insure  a  good  supply  of  air  to  the  extremity 
of  the  mutilated  limb.  Many  persons  are  not 
aware  that  all  parts  of  the  surface  breathe,  just  as 
the  lungs  breathe,  exhaling  carbonic  acid  as  well 
as  water,  and  taking  in  more  or  less  oxygen. 

One  of  the  workmen,  a  pleasant-looking 
young  fellow,  was  himself,  we  were  told,  a 
ligniped.  We  begged  him  to  give  us  a  speci 
men  of  his  walking.  He  arose  and  walked 
rather  slowly  across  the  room  and  back.  "  Once 
more,"  we  said,  not  feeling  quite  sure  which 
was  Nature's  leg  and  which  Mr.  Palmer's.  So 
he  walked  up  and  down  the  room  again,  until 
we  had  satisfied  ourselves  which  was  the  leg  of 
willow  and  which  that  of  flesh  and  bone.  It  is 
not,  perhaps,  to  the  credit  of  our  eyes  or  observ- 


318  THE  HUMAN  WHEEL, 

ing  powers,  but  it  is  a  fact,  that  we  deliberately 
selected  the  wrong  leg.  No  victim  of  the  thim 
ble-rigger's  trickery  was  ever  more  completely 
taken  in  than  we  were  by  the  contrivance  of  the 
ingenious  Surgeon- Artist. 

Our  freely  expressed  admiration  led  to  the 
telling  of  wonderful  stories  about  the  doings  of 
persons  with  artificial  legs.  One  individual  was 
mentioned  who  skated  particularly  well ;  another 
who  danced  with  zeal  and  perseverance ;  and  a 
third  who  must  needs  swim  in  his  leg,  which 
brought  on  a  dropsical  affection  of  the  limb, 
—  to  which  kind  of  complaint  the  willow  has, 
of  course,  a  constitutional  tendency,  —  and  for 
which  it  had  to  come  to  the  infirmary  where 
the  diseases  that  wood  is  heir  to  are  treated. 

But  the  most  wonderful  monuments  of  the 
great  restorer's  skill  are  the  patients  who  have 
lost  both  legs,  —  nullipeds,  as  presented  to  Mr. 
Palmer,  Ulignipeds,  as  they  walk  forth  again 
before  the  admiring  world,  balanced  upon  their 
two  new-born  members.  We  have  before  us 
delineations  of  six  of  these  hybrids  between  the 
animal  and  vegetable  world.  One  of  them  was 


ITS  SPOKES  AND  FELLOES.          319 

employed  at  a  railway  station  near  this  (Atlan 
tic)  city,  where  he  was  often  seen  by  a  member 
of  our  own  household,  whose  testimony  we  are 
in  the  habit  of  considering  superior  in  veracity 
to  the  naked  truth  as  commonly  delivered.  He 
walked  about,  we  are  assured,  a  little  slowly 
and  stiffly,  but  in  a  way  that  hardly  attracted 
attention. 

The  inventor  of  the  leg  has  not  been  con 
tented  to  stop  there.  He  has  worked  for  years 
upon  the  construction  of  an  artificial  arm,  and 
has  at  length  succeeded  in  arranging  a  mechan 
ism,  which,  if  it  cannot  serve  3,  pianist  or  violin 
ist,  is  yet  equal  to  holding  the  reins  in  driving, 
receiving  fees  for  professional  services^  and  simi 
lar  ea^y  labors.  Where  Mr.  Palmer  means  to 
stop  in  supplying  bodily  losses  it  would  be  pre 
mature  to  say.  We  suppose  the  accidents  hap 
pening  occasionally  from  the  use  of  the  guillo 
tine  are  beyond  his  skill,  and  spare  our  readers' 
the  lively  remark  suggested  by  the  contrary 
hypothesis. 

It  is  one  of  the  signs  of  our  advancing  Amer- 


320  THE  HUMAN   WHEEL, 

lean  civilization,  that  the  arts  which  preserve 
and  restore  the  personal  advantages  necessary 
or  favorable  to  cultivated  social  life  should  have 
reached  such  perfection  among  us.  American 
dentists  have  achieved  a  reputation  which  has 
sent  them  into  the  palaces  of  Europe  to  open 
the  mouths  of  sovereigns  and  princes  as  freely 
as  the  jockeys  look  into  those  of  horses  and 
colts.  Bad  teeth,  too  common  among  us,  help 
to  hreed  good  dentists,  110  doubt ;  but  besides 
this  there  is  an  absolute  demand  for  a  certain 
comeliness  of  person  throughout  all  the  decent 
classes  of  our  society.  It  is  the  same  standard 
of  propriety  in  appearances  which  lays  us  open 
to  the  reproach  of  caring  too  much  for  dress. 
If  the  national  ear  for  music  is  not  so  acute  as 
that  of  some  other  peoples,  the  national  eye  for 
the  harmonies  of  form  and  color  is  better  than 
we  often  find  in  older  communities.  We  have 
a  right  to  claim  that  our  sculptors  and  painters 
prove  so  much  'as  this  for  us.  American  taste 
was  offended,  outraged,  by  the  odious  "  peg  " 
which  the  Old- World  soldier  or  beggar  was 
proud  to  show.  We  owe  the  well-shaped, 


ITS  SPOKES  AND  FELLOES.          321 

intelligent,  docile  limb,  the  half-reasoning  willow 
of  Mr.  Palmer,  to  the  same  sense  of  beauty  and 
fitness  which  moulded  the  soft  outlines  of  the 
Indian  Girl  and  the  White  Captive  in  the  stu 
dio  of  his  namesake  at  Albany. 

As  we  wean  ourselves  from  the  Old  World, 
and  become  more  and  more  nationalized  in  our 
great  struggle  for  existence  as  a  free  people,  we 
shall  carry  this    aptness  for   the  -production  of 
beautiful  forms  more  and   more  into  common 
life,  which  demands  first  what  is  necessary  and 
then  what  is  pleasing.      It  is  but  a  step  from 
the  painter's  canvas  to  the  weaver's  loom,  and 
the  pictures  which  are  leaving  the  easel  to-day 
will  show  themselves  in  the  patterns  that  sweep 
the   untidy    sidewalks    to-morrow.       The   same 
plastic  power  which  is  showing  itself  in  the  tri 
umphs  of  American  sculpture   will   reach   the 
forms  of  our   household  utensils.      The   beans 
of  Beverly  shall  yet   be   baked   in  vases   that 
Etruria  might  have  envied,  and  the  clay  pipe 
of  the  Americanized  Milesian  shall   be   a  thing 
of  beauty  as  well  as  a  joy  forever.     We  are  al 
ready  pushing  the  plastic  arts  farther  than  many 
u*  u 


322  THE  HUMAN   WHEEL, 

persons  have  suspected.  There  is  a  small  town 
not  far  from  us  where  a  million  dollars'  worth 
of  gold  is  annually  beaten  into  ornaments  for 
the  breasts,  the  fingers,  the  ears,  the  necks  of 
women.  Many  a  lady  supposes  she  is  buying 
Parisian  adornments,  when  AttleborougTi  could 
say  to  her  proudly,  like  Cornelia,  "  These  are 
my  jewels."  The  workmen  of  this  little  town 
not  only  meet  the  tastes  of  the  less  fastidious 
classes,  to  whom  all  that  glisters  is  gold,  but 
they  shape  the  purest  metal  into  artistic  and 
effective  patterns.  When  the  Koh-i-noor  — 
the  Mountain  of  Light  —  was  to  be  fashioned, 
it  was  found  to  be  almost  as  formidable  a  task 
as  that  of  Xerxes,  when  he  undertook  to 
hew  Mount  Athos  to  the  shape  of  man.  The 
great  crystal  was  sent  to  Holland,  as  the  only 
place  where  it  could  be  properly  cut.  We 
have  lately  seen  a  brilliant  which,  if  not  a 
mountain,  of  light,  was  yet  a  very  respectable 
mound  of  radiance,  valued  at  some  ten  or 
twelve  thousand  dollars,  cut  in  this  virgin  set 
tlement,  and  exposed  in  one  of  our  shop-win 
dows  to  tempt  our  frugal  villagers. 


ITS  SPOKES  AND  FELLOES.          323 

Monsieur  Trousseau,  Professor  in  the  Medi 
cal  School  of  Paris,  delivered  a  discursive  lec 
ture  not  long  ago,  in  which  he  soared  from  the 
region  of  drugs,  his  well-known  special  province, 
into  the  thin  atmosphere  of  aesthetics.  It  is  the 
influence  that  surrounds  his  fortunate  fellow-cit- 
zens,  he  declares,  which  alone  preserves  their 
intellectual  supremacy.  If  a  Parisian  milliner, 
he  says,  remove  to  New  York,  she  will  so 
degenerate  in  the  course  of  a  couple  of  years 
that  the  squaw  of  a  Choctaw  chief  would  be 
ashamed  to  wear  one  of  her  bonnets. 

Listen,  O  Parisian  cockney,  pecking  among 
the  brood  most  plethoric  with  conceit,  of  all  the 
coop-fed  citizens  who  tread  the  pavements  of 
earth's  many-chimneyed  towns  !  America  has 
made  implements  of  husbandry  which  out-mow 
and  out-reap  the  world.  She  has  contrived 
man-slaying  engines  which  kill  people  faster 
than  any^  others.  She  has  modelled  the  wave- 
slicing  clipper,  which  outsails  all  your  argosies 
and  armadas.  She  has  revolutionized  naval 
warfare  once  by  the  steamboat.  She  has  revo 
lutionized  it  a  second  time  by  planting  towers 


324  THE  HUMAN   WHEEL, 

of  iron  on  the  elephantine  backs  of  the  waves. 
She  has  invented  the  sewing-machine  to  save 
the  dainty  fingers  of  your  virtuous  grisettes  from 
uncongenial  toil,  so   that  Fifine  and   Fr&illon. 
may  have   more   leisure   for    self-development. 
She  has    taught   you   a  whole  new    system  of 
labor  in  her  machinery  for  making  watches  and 
rifles.      She  has  bestowed  upon  you  and  all  the 
world  an  anodyne  which  enables  you  to  cut  arms 
and  legs  off  without  hurting  the  patient ;   and 
when  his  leg  is  off,  she  has  given  you  a  true 
artist's  limb  for  your  cripple  to  walk  upon,  in 
stead  of  the  peg  on  which  he  has  stumped  from 
the  days  of  Guy  de  Chauliac  to  those  of  M. 
Nekton.     She  has  been  contriving  well-shaped 
boots  and  shoes  for  the   very  people  who,  if 
they  were  your  countrymen,  would  be  clumping 
about  in  wooden  sabots.     In  works  of  scientific 
industry,  hardly  to  be  looked  for  among  so  new 
a  people,  she  has  distanced  your  best, artificers. 
The  microscopes  made  at  Canastota,  in  the  back 
woods  of  New  York,  look  in  vain  for  their  rivals 
in  Paris,  and  must  challenge  the  best  workman 
ship  of  London  before  they  can  be  approached  in 


SPOKES  AND  FELLOES.          325 

excellence.  The  great  eye  that  stares  into  the 
celestial  spaces  from  its  workshop  in  Cambridge 
dives  deeper  through  their  clouds  of  silvery  dust 
than  any  instrument  mounted  in  your  observa 
tory  in  face  of  the  Luxembourg.  Our  arti 
sans  produce  no  Gobelin  tapestries  or  Sevres 
porcelain  as  yet ;  but  when  your  mobs  have  loot 
ed  the  Tuileries,  our  shopkeepers  have  bought 
up  enough  specimens  to  serve  them  as  patterns 
by  and  by. 

All  this  is  something  for  a  nation  which  has 
hardly  pulled  up  the  stumps  out  of  its  city  mar 
ket-places.  It  is  sad  to  reflect  that  milliners, 
like  Burgundy,  are  spoiled  by  transportation  to 
the  head-quarters  of  American  fashion.  But 
as  the  best  bonnet  of  the  Empress's  own  artist 
would  be  exploded  with  yells  a  couple  of  seasons 
after  the  time  when  i^  was  the  rage,  the  Icarian 
professor's  flight  into  the  regions  of  rhetoric  has 
not  led  him  to  any  very  logical  resting-place 
from  which  he  can  look  down  on  the  aesthetic 
possibilities  of  New  York  or  other  Western  cities 
emerging  from  the  semi-barbarous  state. 

We  are  not  proud,  of  course,  of  any  of  the 


326  THE  HUMAN   WHEEL, 

* 
mechanical  triumphs  we  have  won  ;   they  are 

well  enough,  and  show  —  to  borrow  the  words 

O      ' 

of  a  distinguished  American,  whom,  during  his 
too  brief  career,  we  held  unrivalled  by  any  ex 
perimenter  in  the  Old  World  for  the  depth  as 
well  as  the  daring  of  his  investigations  —  that 
some  things  can  be  done  as  well  as  others. 

Our  specialty  is  of  somewhat  larger  scope. 
We  profess  to  make  men  and  women  out  of 
human  beings  better  than  any  of  the  joint-stock 
companies  called  dynasties  have  done  or  can  do 
it.  We  profess  to  make  citizens  out  of  men,  — 
not  dtoyens,  but  persons  educated  to  question  all 
privileges  asserted  by  others,  and  claim  all  rights 
belonging  to  themselves,  —  the  only  way  in 
which  the  infinitely  most  important  party  to  the 
compact  between  the  governed  and  governing  can 
avoid  being  cheated  out  of f  the  best  rights  inhe 
rent  in  human  nature,  as  an  experience  the  world 
has  seen  almost  enough  of  has  proved.  We  are 
in  trouble  just  now,  on  account  of  a  neglected 
hereditary  melanosis,  as  Monsieur  Trousseau 
might  call  it.  When  we  recover  from  the  social 
and  political  convulsion  it  has  produced,  and 


ITS  SPOKES  AND  FELLOES.          327 

eliminate  the  materies  morbi,  —  and  both  theso 
events  are  only  matters  of  time,  —  perhaps  we 
shall  have  leisure  to*  breed  our  own  milliners. 
If  not,  there  will  probably  be  refugees  enough 
from  the  Old  World,  who  have  learned  the 
fashions  in  courts,  and  will  be  glad  to  turn  their 
knowledge  to  a  profitable  use  for  the  benefit  of 
their  republican  patronesses  in  New  York  and 
Boston. 

We  have  run  away  from  our  subject  farther 
than  we  meant  at  starting  ;  but  an  essay  on 
legs  could  hardly  avoid  the  rambling  tendency 
which  naturally  belongs  to  these  organs. 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  AUTOCRAT'S 
LANDLADY. 

BY  THE  SPECIAL  REPORTER  OF  THE  "  OCEANIC  MISCELLANY." 

THE  door  was  opened  by  a  stout,  red-armed 
lump  of  a  woman,  who,  in  reply  to  my 
question,  said  her  name  was  Bridget,  but  Biddy 
they  calls  her  mostly.  There  was  a  rickety  hat- 
stand  in  the  entry,  upon  which,  by  the  side  of  a 
school-boy's  cap,  there  hung  a  broad-brimmed 
white  hat,  somewhat  fatigued  by  use,  but  looking 
gentle  and  kindly,  as  I  have  often  noticed  good 
old  gentlemen's  hats  do,  after  they  have  worn 
them  for  a  time.  The  door  of  the  dining-room 
was  standing  wide  open,  and  I  went  in.  A 
long  table,  covered  with  an  oil-cloth,  ran  up  and 
down  the  length  of  the  room,  and  yellow  wooden 
chairs  were  ranged  about  it.  She  showed  me 
where  the  Gentleman  used  to  sit,  and,  at  the 


THE  AUTOCRATS  LANDLADY.       329 

last  part  of  the  time,  the  Schoolmistress  next  to 
him.  Their  chairs  were  like  the  rest,  but  it  was 
odd  enough  to  notice  that  they  stood  close  to 
gether,  touching  each  other,  while  all  the  rest 
were  straggling  and  separate.  I  observed  that 
peculiar  atmospheric  flavor  which  has  been  de 
scribed  by  Mr.  Balzac  (the  French  story-teller 
who  borrows  so  many  things  from  some  of  our 
American  leading  writers),  under  the  name  of 
odeur  de  pension.  It  is,  as  one  may  say,  an 
olfactory  perspective  of  an  endless  vista  of  de 
parted  breakfasts,  dinners,  and  suppers.  It  is 
similar,  if  not  identical,  in  all  temperate  climates  ; 
a  kind  of  neutral  tint,  which  forms  the  perpetual 
background  upon  which  the  banquet  of  to-day 
strikes  out  its  keener  but  more  transitory  aroma. 
I  don't  think  it  necessary  to  go  into  any  further 
particulars,  because  this  atmospheric  character 
has  the  effect  of  making  the  dining-rooms  of  all 
boarding-houses  seem  very  much  alike  ;  and  the 
accident  of  a  hair-cloth  sofa,  cold,  shiny,  slip 
pery,  prickly,  —  or  a  veneered  sideboard,  with 
a  scale  off  here  and  there,  and  a  knob  or  two 
missing,  —  or  a  portrait,  with  one  hand  half 


330  A    VISIT  TO   THE 

under  its  coat,  the  other  resting  on  a  pious-look 
ing  book,  —  these  accidents,  and  such  as  these, 
make  no  great  difference. 

The  landlady  soon  presented  herself,  and  I 
followed  her  into  the  parlor,  which  was  a  decent 
apartment,  with  a  smart  centre-table,  on  which 
lay  an  accordion,  a  recent  number  of  the  "  Pac- 
tolian,"  a  gilt-edged,  illustrated  book  or  two,  and 
a  copy  of  the  works  of  that  distinguished  native 
author,  to  whom  I  feel  very  spiteful,  on  account 
of  his  having,  some  years  ago,  attacked  a  near 
friend  of  mine,  and  whom,  on  Christian  prin 
ciples,  I  do  not  mention,  —  though  I  have 
noticed,  that,  where  there  is  an  accordion  on 
the  table,  his  books  are  apt  to  be  lying  near  it. 

The  landlady  was  a  "wilted"  (not  exactly 
withered),  sad-eyed  woman,  of  the  thin-blooded 
sort,  but  firm-fibred,  and  sharpened  and  made 
shrewd  by  her  calling,  so  that  the  look  with 
which  she  ran  me  over,  in  the  light  of  a  possible 
boarder,  was  so  searching,  that  I  was  half  put 
down  by  it.  I  informed  her  of  my  errand, 
which  was  to  make  some  inquiries  concerning 
two  former  boarders  of  hers,  in  whom  a  portion 


AUTOCRATS  LANDLADY.  331 

of  the  public  had  expressed  some  interest,  and 
of  whom  I  should  be  glad  to  know  certain  per 
sonal  details,  —  as  to  their  habits,  appearance, 
and  so  on.  Any  information  she  might  furnish 
would  be  looked  upon  in  the  light  of  a  literary 
contribution  to  the  pages  of  the  "  Oceanic  Mis 
cellany,"  and  be  compensated  with  the  well- 
known  liberality  of  the  publishers  of  that  spir 
ited,  enterprising,  and  very  popular  periodical. 

Up  to  this  point,  the  landlady's  countenance 
had  kept  that  worried,  watchful  look,  which 
poor  women,  who  have  to  fight  the  world  single- 
handed,  sooner  or  later  grow  into.  But  now 
her  features  relaxed  a  little.  The  blow  which 
had  crushed  her  life  had  shattered  her  smile, 
and,  as  the  web  of  shivered  expression  shot  off 
its  rays  across  her  features,  I  fancied  that  Grief 
had  written  her  face  all  over  with  Ws,  to  mark 
her  as  one  of  his  forlorn  flock  of  Widows. 

The  report  here  given  is  partly  from  the  con 
versation  held  with  the  landlady  at  that  time, 
and  partly  from  written  notes  which  she  fur 
nished  me ;  for,  finding  that  she  was  to  be  a 
contributor  to  the  "  Oceanic  Miscellany,"  and 


332  A    VISIT  TO   THE 

that  in  that  capacity  she  would  be  entitled  to 
the  ample  compensation  offered  by  the  liberal 
proprietors  of  that  admirably  conducted  peri 
odical,  —  which  we  are  pleased  to  learn  has 
been  growing  in  general  favor,  and  which,  the 
public  may  be  assured,  no  pains  will  be  spared 
to  render  superior  in  every  respect,  —  I  say, 
finding  that  she  was  to  be  handsomely  remu 
nerated,  she  entered  into  the  subject  with  great 
zeal,  both  verbally  and  by  letter.  The  reader 
will  see  that  I  sometimes  follow  her  orthog 
raphy,  and  sometimes  her  pronunciation,  as  I 
may  have  taken  it  from  writing  or  from  speech. 

THE  LANDLADY'S  ACCOUNT. 

There  is  two  vacant  places  at  my  table, 
which  I  should  be  pleased  to  fill  with  two  gen 
tlemen,  or  with  a  gentleman  and  his  wife,  or 
any  respectable  people,  be  they  merried  or 
single.  It  is  about  the  gentleman  and  the  lady 
that  used  to  set  in  them  places,  that  inquiries  is 
bein'  made.  Some  has  wrote,  and  some  has 
spoke,  and  a  good  many  folks,  that  was  unbe 
known  to  me,  has  come  in  and  wanted  to  see 


-AUTOCRATS  LANDLADY.  333 

the  place  where  they  used  to  set,  and  some 
days  it 's  been  nothin'  but  ring,  ring,  ring,  from 
mornin'  till  night. 

Folks  will  be  curious  about  them  that  has 
wrote  in  the  papers.  There's  my  daughter 
could  n't  be  easy  no  way  till  she  'd  got  a  pro- 
feel  of  one  of  them  authors,  to  hang  up  right 
over  the  head  of  her  bed.  That 's  the  gentle 
man  that  writes  stories  in  the  papers,  some  in 
the  same  way  this  gentleman  did,  I  expect,  that 
inquiries  is  made  about. 

I  'm  a  poor  woman,  that  tries  to  get  an  honest 
livin',  and  works  hard  enough  for  it  ;  —  lost 
my  husband,  and  buried  five  children,  and  have 
two  livin'  ones  to  support.  It  's  a  great  loss  to 
me,  losin'  them  two  boarders  ;  and  if  there  's 
anything  in  them  papers  he  left  in  that  desk 
that  will  fetch  anything  at  any  of  the  shops 
where  they  buy  such  things,  I  'm  sure  I  wish 
you  'd  ask  the  printer  to  step  round  here,  and 
stop  in  and  see  what  any  of  'em  is  worth. 
I  '11  let  you  have  one  or  two  of  'em,  and  then 
you  can  see  whether  you  don't  know  anybody 
that  would  take  the  lot.  I  suppose  you  '11  put 


334  A    VISIT  TO    THE 

what  I  tell  you  into  shape,  for,  like  as  not,  I 
sha'n't  write  it  out  nor  talk  jest  as  folks  that 
make  books  do. 

This  gentleman  warn't  no  great  of  a  gentle 
man  to  look  at.  Being  of  a  very  moderate 
dimension,  —  five  foot  five  he  said,  but  five  foot 
four  more  likely,  and  I  Ve  heerd  him  say  he 
did  n't  weigh  much  over  a  hundred  and  twenty 
pound.  He  was  light-complected  rather  than 
darksome,  and  was  one  of  them  smooth-faced 
people  that  keep  their  baird  and  wiskers  cut 
close,  jest  as  if  they  'd  be  very  troublesome 
if  they  let  'em  grow,  —  instead  of  layin'  out 
their  face  in  grass,  as  my  poor  husband  that  's 
dead  and  gone  used  to  say.  He  was  a  well- 
behaved  gentleman  at  table,  only  talked  a  good 
deal,  and  pretty  loud  sometimes,  and  had  a  way 
of  turnin'  up  his  nose  when  he  did  n't  like  what 
folks  said,  that  one  of  my  boarders,  who  is  a 
very  smart  young  man,  said  he  could  n't  stand, 
no  how,  and  used  to  make  faces  and  poke  fun 
at  him  whenever  he  see  him  do  it. 

He  never  said  a  word  aginst  any  vittles  that 
was  set  before  him,  but  I  mistrusted  that  he  was 


AUTOCRATS  LANDLADY.  335 

more  partickerlar  in  his  catin'  than  he  wanted 
folks  to  know  of,  for  I  've  knowed  him  make 
believe  to  eat,  and  leave  the  vittles  on  his  plate 
when  he  did  n't  seem  to  fancy  'em  ;  but  he  was 
very  careful  never  to  hurt  my  feelin's,  and  I 
don't  belief  he  'd  have  spoke,  if  he  had  found 
a  tadpole  in  a  dish  of  chowder.  But  nothin' 
could  hurry  him  when  he  was  about  his  vittles. 
Many  's  the  time  I  Ve  seen  that  gentleman  keep- 
in'  two  or  three  of  'em  settin'  round  the  break 
fast-table  after  the  rest  had  swallered  their  meal, 
and  the  things  was  cleared  off,  and  Bridget  was 
a-waitin'  to  get  the  cloth  away,  — and  there  that 
little  man  would  set  with  a  tumbler  of  sugar  and 

water,  —  what  he  used  to  call  O  Sukray, a- 

talkin'  and  a-talkin',  —  and  sometimes  he  would 
laugh,  and  sometimes  the  tears  would  come  into 
his  eyes,  —  which  was  a  kind  of  grayish  blue 
eves»  —  and  there  he  'd  set  and  set,  and  my  boy 
Benjamin  Franklin  hangin'  round  and  gettin' 
late  for  school  and  wantin'  an  excuse,  and  an 
old  gentleman  that  's  one  of  my  boarders,  a- 
listenin'  as  if  he  wa'n't  no  older  than  my  Ben. 
Franklin,  and  that  schoolmistress  settin'  jest  as 


336  A    VISIT  TO   THE 

if  she  'd  been  bewitched,  and  you  might  stick 
pins  into  her  without  her  hollerin'.  He  was  a 
master  hand  to  talk  when  he  got  a-goin'.  But 
he  never  would  have  no  disputes  nor  long  arger- 
ments  at  my  table,  and  I  liked  him  all  the  better 
for  that ;  for  I  had  a  boarder  once  that  never 
let  nothin'  go  by  without  disputin'  of  it,  till 
nobody  knowed  what  he  believed  and  what  he 
did  n't  believe,  only  they  was  pretty  sure  he 
did  n't  believe  the  side  he  was  a-disputin'  for, 
and  some  of  'em  said,  that,  if  you  wanted  him 
to  go  any  partickerlar  way,  you  must  do  with 
him  just  as  folks  do  that  drive  —  well,  them 
obstinate  creeturs  that  squeal  so,  —  for  I  don't 
like  to  name  such  creeturs  in  connexion  with 
a  gentleman  that  paid  his  board  regular,  and 
was  a  very  smart  man,  and  knowed  a  great  deal, 
only  his  knowledge  all  laid  crosswise,  as  one  of 
'em  used  to  say,  after  t'  other  one  had  shet  him 
up  till  his  mouth  wa'n't  of  no  more  use  to  him 
than  if  it  had  been  a  hole  in  the  back  of  his 
head.  This  wa'n't  no  sech  gentleman.  One 
of  my  boarders  used  to  say  that  he  always  said 
exactly  what  he  was  a  mind  to,  and  stuck  his 


AUTOCRATS  LANDLADY.  337 

idees  out  jest  like  them  that  sells  pears  outside 
their  shop-winders,  —  some  is  three  cents,  some 
is  two  cents,  and  some  is  only  one  cent,  and  if 
you  don't  like,  you  need  n't  buy,  but  them  's 
the  articles  and  them  's  the  prices,  and  if  you 
want  'ein,  take  'em,  and  if  you  don't,  go  about 
your  business,  and  don't  stand  mellerin'  of  'em 
with  your  thumbs  all  day  till  you  've  sp'ilt  'em 
for  other  folks. 

He  was  a  man  that  loved  to  stick  round  home 
as  .much  as  any  cat  you  ever  see  in  your  life. 
He  used  to  say  he  'd  as  lief  have  a  tooth  pulled 
as  go  away  anywheres.  Always  got  sick,  he 
said,  when  he  went  away,  and  never  sick  when 
he  did  n't.  Pretty  nigh  killed  himself  goin' 
about  lecterin'  two  or  three  winters,  —  talkin' 
in  cold  country  lyceums,  —  as  he  used  to  say,  — 
goin'  home  to  cold  parlors  and  bein'  treated  to 
cold  apples  and  cold  water,  and  then  goin'  up 
into  a  cold  bed  in  a  cold  chamber,  and  comin' 
home  next  mornin'  with  a  cold  in  his  head  as 
bad  as  the  horse-distemper.  Then  he  'd  look 
kind  of  sorry  for  havin'  said  it,  and  tell  how 
kind  some  of  the  good  women  was  to  him,  — 

15  V 


338  A   VISIT  TO   THE 

how  one  spread  an  edder-down  comforter  for 
him,  and  another  fixed  up  somethin'  hot  for  him 
after  the  lecter,  and  another  one  said,  "  There 
now,  you  smoke  that  cigar  of  yours  after  the 
lecter,  jest  as  if  you  was  at  home,"  —  and  if 
they  'd  all  been  like  that,  he  'd  'have  gone  on 
lectering  forever,  but,  as  it  was,  he  had  got  pooty 
nigh  enough  of  it,  and  preferred  a  nateral  death 
to  puttin'  himself  out  of  the  world  by  such  vio 
lent  means  as  lecterin'. 

He  used  to  say  that  he  was  always  good  com 
pany  enough,  if  he  was  n't  froze  to  death,  and 
if  he  was  n't  pinned  in  a  corner  so  't  he  could  n't 
clear  out  when  he  'd  got  as  much  as  he  wanted. 
But  he  was  a  dreadful  uneven  creetur  in  his 
talk,  and  I  've  heerd  a  smart  young  man  that 's 
one  of  my  boarders  say,  he  believed  he  had  a 
lid  to  the  top  of  his  head,  and  took  his  brains 
out  and  left  'em  up  stairs  sometimes  when  he 
come  down  in  the  mornin'.  —  About  his  ways, 
he  was  spry  and  quick  and  impatient,  and,  ex 
cept  in  a  good  company,  —  he  used  to  say, — 
where  he  could  get  away  at  any  minute,  he 
didn't  like  to  set  still  very  long  to  once,  but 


AUTOCRAT'S  LANDLADY.  339 

wanted  to  be  off  walkin'  or  rowin'  round  in  one 
of  them  queer  boats  of  his,  and  he  was  the  solita- 
riest  creetur  in  his  goin  's  about  (except  when 
he  could  get  that  schoolmistress  to  trail  round 
with  him)  that  ever  you  see  in  your  life.  He 
used  to  say  that  usin'  two  eyes  and  two  legs  at 
once,  and  keepin'  one  tongue  a-goin',  too,  was 
too  sharp  practice  /or  him  ;  so  he  had  a  way  of 
dodgin'  round  all  sorts  of  odd  streets,  I've 
heerd  say,  where  he  would  n't  meet  people  that 
would  stick  to  him. 

It  did  n't  take  much  to  please  him.  Some 
times  it  would  be  a  big  book  he  'd  lug  home,  and 
sometimes  it  would  be  a  mikerscope,  and  some 
times  it  would  be  a  dreadful  old-lookin'  fiddle 
that  he'd  picked  up  somewhere,  and  kept  a- 
screechin'  on,  sayin'  all  the  while  that  it  was 
jest  as  smooth  as  a  flute.  Then  ag'in  I  'd  hear 
him  laughin'  out  all  alone,  and  I  'd  go  up  and 
find  him  readin'  some  verses  that  he  'd  been 
makin'.  But  jest  as  like  as  not  I  'd  go  in 
another  time,  and  find  him  cryin',  — but  he  'd 
wipe  his  eyes  and  try  not  to  show  it,  — and  it 
was  all  nothin'  but  some  more  verses  he  'd  been 


340  A    VISIT  TO   THE 

a-writin'.  I  've  heerd  him  say  that  it  was  put 
down  in  one  of  them  ancient  books,  that  a  man 
must  cry  himself,  if  he  wants  to  make  other 
folks  cry ;  but,  says  he,  you  can't  make  'em 
neither  laugh  nor  cry,  if  you  don't  try  on  them 
feelin's  yourself  before  you  send  your  work  to 
the  customers. 

He  was  a  temperate  man,  and  always  encour 
aged  temperance  by  drinkin'  jest  wjiat  he  was  a 
mind  to,  and  that  was  generally  water.  You 
could  n't  scare  him  with  names,  though.  I  re 
member  a  young  minister  that's  go'n'  to  be, 
that  boards  at  my  house,  askin'  once  what  was 
the  safest  strong  drink  for  them  that  had  to  take 
somethin'  for  the  stomach's  sake  and  thine  awful 
infirmities.  Aquafortis,  says  he, — because  you 
know  that  '11  eat  your  insides  out,  if  you  get  it 
too  strong,  and  so  you  always  mind  how  much 
you  take.  Next  to  that,  says  he,  rum  's  the 
safest  for  a  wise  man,  and  small  beer  for  a  fool. 

I  never  mistrusted  anything  about  him  and 
that  schoolmistress  till  I  heerd  they  was  keepin' 
company,  and  was  go'n'  to  be  merried.  But  I 
mi^ht  have  knowed  it  well  enough  by  his  smart- 


AUTOCRAT'S  LANDLADY.  341 

in'  himself  up  the  way  he  did,  and  partin'  the 
hair  on  the  back  of  his  head,  and  gettin'  a  blue 
coat  with  brass  buttons,  and  wearin'  them  dread 
ful  tight  little  French  boots  that  used  to  stand 
outside  his  door  to  be  blacked,  and  stickin'  round 
schoolma'am,  and  follerin'  of  her  with  his  eyes  ; 
but  then  he  was  always  fond  of  ladies,  and  used 
to  sing  with  my  daughter,  and  wrote  his  name 
out  in  a  blank  book  she  keeps,  —  them  that  has 
daughters  of  their  own  will  keep  their  eyes  on 
'em,  —  and  I  've  often  heerd  him  say  he  was 
fond  of  music  and  picters,  —  and  she  worked  a 
beautiful  pattern  for  a  chair  of  his  once,  that  he 
seemed  to  set  a  good  deal  by  ;  but  I  ha'n't  no 
fault  to  find,  and  there  is  them  that  my  daughter 
likes  and  them  that  likes  her. 

As  to  schoolma'am,  I  ha'n't  a  word  to  say 
that  a'n't  favorable,  and  don't  harbor  no  unkind 
feelin'  to  her,  and  never  knowed  them  that  did. 
When  she  first  come  to  board  at  my  house,  I 
had  n't  any  idee  she  'd  live  long.  She  was  all 
dressed  in  black ;  and  her  face  looked  so  delicate, 
I  expected  before  six  months  was  over  to  see  u 
plate  of  glass  over  it,  and  a  Bible  and  a  bunch 


342  A    VISIT  TO   THE 

of  flowers  layin'  on  the  lid  of  the  —  well,  I  don't 
like  to  talk  about  it ;  for  when  she  first  come, 
and  said  her  mother  was  dead,  and  she  was  alone 
in  the  world,  except  one  sister  out  West,  and 
onlocked  her  trunk  and  showed  me  her  things, 
and  took  out  her  little  purse  and  showed  me  her 
money,  and  said  that  was  all  the  property  she 
had  in  the  world  but  her  courage  and  her  edu 
cation,  and  would  I  take  her  and  keep  her  till 
she  could  get  some  scholars,  —  I  couldn't  say 
not  one  word,  but  jest  went  up  to  her  and  kissed 
her  and  bu'st  out  a-cryin'  so  as  I  never  cried 
since  I  buried  the  last  of  them  five  children  that 
lays  in  the  buryin'-ground  with  their  father,  and 
a  place  for  one  more  grown  person  betwixt  him 
and  the  shortest  of  them  five  graves,  where  my 
baby  is  waitin'  for  its  mother. 

[The  landlady  stopped  here  and  shed  a  few 
still  tears,  such  as  poor  women  who  have  been 
wrung  out  almost  dry  by  fierce  griefs  lose 
calmly,  without  sobs  or  hysteric  convulsions, 
when  they  show  the  scar  of  a  healed  sorrow.] 

The  schoolma'am  had  jest  been  killin' 

herself  for  a  year  and  a  half  with  waitin'  and 


AUTOCRAT'S  LANDLADY.  343 

tendin'  and  watchin'  with  that  sick  mother  that 
was  dead  now  and  she  was  in  mournin'  for. 
Slie  did  n't  say  so,  but  I  got  the  story  out  of  her, 
and  then  I  knowed  why  she  looked  so  dreadful 
pale  and  poor.  By  and  by  she  begun  to  get 
some  scholars,  and  then  she  would  come  home 
sometimes  so  weak  and  faint  that  I  was  afraid 
she  would  drop.  One  day  I  handed  her  a  bottle 
of  camphire  to  smell  of,  and  she  took  a  smell  of 
it,  and  I  thought  she  'd  have  fainted  right  away. 
Oh,  says  she,  when  she  come  to,  I  've  breathed 
that  smell  for  a  whole  year  and  more,  and  it  kills 
me  to  breathe  it  again  ! 

The  fust  thing  that  ever  I  see  pass  between 
the  gentleman  inquiries  is  made  about,  and  her, 
was  on  occasion  of  his  makin'  some  very  search- 
in*  remarks  about  griefs,  sech  as  loss  of  friends 
and  so  on.  I  see  her  fix  her  eye  steady  on  him, 
and  then  she  kind  of  trembled  and  turned  white, 
and  the  next  thing  I  knew  was  she  was  all  of  a 
heap  on  the  floor.  I  remember  he  looked  into 
her  face  then,  and  seemed  to  be  seized  as  if  it 
was  with  a  start  or  spasm-like,  —  but  I  thought 
not  hiii'  more  of  it,  supposin'  it  was  because  he 
felt  so  bad  at  makin'  her  faint  away. 


344  A    VISIT  TO   THE 

Some  has  asked  me  what  kind  of  a  young 
woman  she  was  to  look  at.  Well,  folks  differ  as 
to  what  is  likely  and  what  is  homely.  I  've  seen 
them  that  was  as  pretty  as  picters  in  my  eyes  : 
cheeks  jest  as  rosy  as  they  could  be,  and  hair  all 
shiny  and  curly,  and  little  mouths  with  lips  as 
red  as  sealin'-wax,  and  yet  one  of  my  boarders 
that  had  a  great  name  for  makin'  marble  figgers 
would  say  such  kind  of  good  looks  warn't  of  no 
account.  I  knowed  a  young  lady  once  that  a 
man  drownded  himself  because  she  wouldn't 
marry  him,  and  she  might  have  had  her  pick  of 
a  dozen,  but  I  did  n't  call  her  anything  great  in 
the  way  of  loaks.  All  I  can  say  is,  that,  whether 
she  was  pretty  or  not,  she  looked  like  a  young 
woman  that  knowed  what  was  good  and  had 
a  nateral  love  for  it,  and  she  had  about  as  clear 
an  eye  and  about  as  pleasant'  a  smile  as  any  man 
ought  to  want  for  e very-day  company.  I  've 
seen  a  good  many  young  ladies  that  could  talk 
faster  than  she  could  ;  but  if  you  'd  seen  her  or 
heerd  her  when  our  boardin'-house  caught  afire; 
or  when  there  was  anything  to  be  done  besides 
speech-makin',  I  guess  you  'd  like  to  have  stood 


AUTOCRAT'S  LANDLADY.  345 

still  and  looked  on,  jest  to  see  that  young 
woman's  way  of  goin'  to  work.  Dark,  ruther 
than  light ;  and  slim,  but  strong  in  the  arms,  — 
perhaps  from  liftin'  that  old  mother  about ;  for 
I  Ve  seen  her  heavin'  one  end  of  a  big  heavy 
chest  round  that  I  should  n't  have  thought  of 
touchin',  —  and  yet  her  hands  was  little  and 
white.  Dressed  very  plain,  but  neat,  and  wore 
her  hair  smooth.  I  used  to  wonder  sometimes 
she  did  n't  wear  some  kind  of  ornaments,  bein' 
a  likely  young  woman,  and  havin'  her  way  to 
make  in  the  world,  and  seem'  my  daughter 
wearin'  jewelry,  which  sets  her  off  so  much, 
every  day.  She  never  would,  —  nothin'  but  a 
breastpin  with  her  mother's  hair  in  it,  and  some 
times  one  little  black  cross.  That  made  me  think 
she  was  a  Roman  Catholic,  especially  when  she 
got  a  picter  of  the  Virgin  Mary  and  hung  it  up 
in  her  room  ;  so  I  asked  her,  and  she  shook  her 
head  and  said  these  very  words,  —  that  she 
never  saw  a  church-door  so  narrow  she  could  n't 
go  in  through  it,  nor  so  wide  that  all  the  Crea 
tor's  goodness  and  glory  could  enter  it ;  and 
then  she  dropped  her  eyes,  and  went  to  work  on 

15* 


346  A    VISIT  TO   THE 

a  flannel  petticoat  she  was  makin',  —  which  I 
knowed,  but  she  did  n't  tell  me,  was  for  a  poor 
old  woman. 

I  've  said  enough  about  them  two  boarders, 
but  I  believe  it 's  all  true.  Their  places  is  va 
cant,  and  I  should  be  very  glad  to  fill  'em  with 
two  gentlemen,  or  with  a  gentleman  and  his 
wife,  or  any  respectable  people,  be  they  merried 
or  single. 

I  Ve  heerd  some  talk  about  a  friend  of  that 
gentleman's  comin'  to  take  his  place.  That 's 
the  gentleman  that  he  calls  "the  Professor," 
and  I  'm  sure  I  hope  there  is  sech  a  man  ;  only 
all  I  can  say  is,  I  never  see  him,  and  none  of  my 
boarders  ever  see  him,  and  that  smart  young 
man  that  I  was  speakin'  of  says  he  don't  believe 
there's  no  sech  person  as  him,  nor  that  other 
one  that  he  called  "  the  Poet."  I  don't  much 
care  whether  folks  professes  or  makes  poems, 
if  they  makes  themselves  agreeable,  and  pays 
their  board  regular.  I  'm  a  poor  woman,  that 
tries  to  get  an  honest  livin',  and  works  hard 
enough  for  it ;  lost  my  husband,  and  buried  five 
children. 


A  UTOCRA  T'S  LANDLADY.  347 

Excuse  me,  dear  Madam,  I  said,  —  looking  at 
my  watch,  —  but  you  spoke  of  certain  papers 
which  your  boarder  left,  and  which  you  were 
ready  to  dispose  of  for  the  pages  of  the  "  Oceanic 
Miscellany." 

The  landlady's  face  splintered  again  into  the 
wreck  of  the  broken  dimples  of  better  days.  — 
She  should  be  much  obleeged,  if  I  would  look 
at  them,  she  said,  —  and  went  up-stairs  and  got 
a  small  desk  containing  loose  papers.  I  looked 
them  hastily  over,  and  selected  one  of  the  short 
est  pieces,  handed  the  landlady  a  check  which 
astonished  her,  and  send  the  poem  thus  happily 
obtained  as  an  appendix  to  my  report.  If  I 
should  find  others  adapted  to  the  pages  of  the 
spirited  periodical  which  has  done  so  much  to 
develop  and  satisfy  the  intellectual  appetite  of 
the  American  public,  and  to  extend  the  name 
of  its  enterprising  publishers  throughout  the 
reading  world,  I  shall  present  them  in  future 
numbers  of  the  "  Oceanic  Miscellany." 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  ASYLUM  FOR  AGED 
AND   DECAYED   PUNSTERS. 


HAVING  just  returned  from  a  visit  to 
this  admirable  Institution  in  company 
with  a  friend  who  is  one  of  the  Directors,  we 
propose  giving  a  short  account  of  what  we  saw 
and  heard.  The  great  success  of  the  Asylum 
for  Idiots  and  Feeble-minded  Youth,  several  of 
the  scholars  from  which  have  reached  consider 
able  distinction,  one  of  them  being  connected 
with  a  leading  Daily  Paper  in  this  city,  and 
others  having  served  in  the  State  and  National 
Legislatures,  was  the  motive  which  led  to  the 
foundation  of  this  excellent  Charity.  Our  late 
distinguished  townsman,  Noah  Dow,  Esquire,  as 
is  well  known,  bequeathed  a  large  portion  of  his 
fortune  to  this  establishment,  —  "  being  thereto 
moved,"  as  his  will  expressed  it,  "  by  the  desire 


AGED  AND  DECAYED  PUNSTERS.    349 

of  N.  Dowing  some  publick  Institution  for  the 
benefit  of  Mankind."  Being  consulted  as  to  the 
Rules  of-  the  Institution  and  the  selection  of  a 
Superintendent,  he  replied,  that  "  all  Boards 
must  construct  their  own  Platforms  of  opera 
tion.  Let  them  select  anyhow  and  he  should  be 
pleased."  N.  E.  Howe,  Esq.,  was  chosen  in 
compliance  with  this  delicate  suggestion. 

The  Charter  provides  for  the  support  of  "  One 
hundred  aged  and  decayed  Gentlemen-Pun 
sters."  On  inquiry  if  there  was  no  provision 
for  females,  my  friend  called  my  attention  to  this 
remarkable  psychological  fact,  namely  :  — 

THERE  is  NO  SUCH  THING  AS  A  FEMALE 
PUNSTER. 

This  remark  struck  me  forcibly,  and  on  re 
flection  I  found  that  I  never  knew  nor  heard  of 
one,  though  I  have  once  or  twice  heard  a  woman 
make  a  single  detached  pun,  as  I  have  known  a 
hen  to  crow. 

On  arriving  at  the  south  gate  of  the  Asylum 
grounds,  I  was  about  to  ring,  but  my  friend  held 
my  arm  and  begged  me  to  rap  with  my  stick, 
which  I  did.  An  old  man  with  a  verv  comical 


350      A    VISIT  TO   THE  ASYLUM  FOR 

face  presently  opened  the  gate  and  put  out  his 
head. 

"  So  you  prefer  Cane  to  A  Bell,  do  you  ?  " 
he  said,  —  and  began  chuckling  and  coughing 
at  a  great  rate. 

My  friend  winked  at  me. 

"  You  're  here  still,  Old  Joe,  I  see,"  he  said 
to  the  old  man. 

"  Yes,  yes,  —  and  it 's  very  odd,  considering 
how  often  I  Ve  bolted,  nights." 

He  then  threw  open  the  double  gates  for  us  to 
ride  through. 

"  Now,"  said  the  old  man,  as  he  pulled  the 
gates  after  us,  "  you  've  had  a  long  journey." 

"  Why,  how  is  that,  Old  Joe  ? "  said  my 
friend. 

"  Don't  you  see  ?  "  he  answered  ;  "  there  's 
the  East  hinges  on  one  side  of  the  gate,  and 
there  's  the  West  hinges  on  t'  other  side,  —  haw  ! 
haw  !  haw  !  " 

We  had  no  sooner  got  into  the  yard  than  a 
feeble  little  gentleman,  with  a  remarkably  bright 
eye,  came  up  to  us,  looking  very  seriously,  as  if 
something  had  happened. 


AGED  AND  DECAYED  PUNSTERS.    351 

"  The  town  has^entered  a  complaint  against 
the  Asylum  as  a  gambling  establishment,"  he 
said  to  my  friend,  the  Director. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  my  friend. 

"  Why,  they  complain  that  there  's  a  lot  0' 
rye  on  the  premises,"  he  answered,  pointing  to 
a  field  of  that  grain,  —  and  hobbled  away,  his 
shoulders  shaking  with  laughter,  as  he  went. 

On  entering  the  main  building,  we  saw  the 
Rules  and  Regulations  for  the  Asylum  conspicu 
ously  posted  up.  I  made  a  few  extracts  which 
may  be  interesting. 

Sect.  I.     OF  VERBAL  EXERCISES. 

5.  Each  Inmate  shall  be  permitted  to  make 
Puns  freely  from  eight  in  the  morning  until  ten 
at  night,  except  during  Service  in  the  Chapel 
and  Grace  before  Meals. 

6.  At  ten  o'clock  the  gas  will  be  turned  off, 
and  no  further  Puns,  Conundrums,  or  other  play 
on  words,  will  be  allowed  to  be  uttered,  or  to  be 
uttered  aloud. 

9.  Inmates  who  have  lost  their  faculties  and 
cannot  any  longer  make  Puns  shall  be  permitted 


352      A    VISIT  TO   THE  ASYLUM  FOR 

to  repeat  such  as  may  be  selected  for  them  by 
the  Chaplain  out  of  the  work  of  Mr.  Joseph 
Miller. 

10.  Violent  and  unmanageable  Punsters,  who 
interrupt  others  when  engaged  in  conversation, 
with  Puns  or  attempts  at  the  same,  shall  be  de 
prived  of  their  Joseph  Millers,  and,  if  necessary, 
placed  in  solitary  confinement. 

Sect.  III.    OF  DEPORTMENT  AT  MEALS. 

4.  No  Inmate  shall  make  any  Pun,  or  at 
tempt  at  the  same,  until  the  Blessing  has  been 
asked  and  the  company  are  decently  seated. 

7.  Certain  Puns  having  been  placed  on  the 
Index  Expurgatorius  of  the  Institution,  no  In 
mate  shall  be  allowed  to  utter  them,  on  pain  of 
being  debarred  the  perusal  of  Punch  and  Vanity 
Fair,  and,  if  repeated,  deprived  of  his  Joseph 
Miller. 

Among  these  are  the  following :  — 

Allusions  to  Attic  salt,  when  asked  to  pass  the 
salt-cellar. 

Remarks  on  the  Inmates  being  mustered,  etc., 
etc. 


AGED  AND  DECAYED  PUNSTERS.    353 

Personal  allusions  in  connection  with  carrots 
and  turnips. 

Attempts  upon  the  word  tomato,  etc.,  etc. 

The  following  are  also  prohibited,  excepting 
to  such  Inmates  as  may  have  lost  their  faculties, 
and  cannot  any  longer  make  Puns  of  their 
own  :  — 

" your  own  hair  or  a  wig  "  ;  "  it  will 

be  long  enough"  etc.,  etc. ;  "  little  of  its  age," 
etc.,  etc.  ;  —  also,  playing  upon  the  following 
words  :  Aospital ;  mayor  ;  pun  ;  pitied  ;  bread  ; 
sauce,  sole,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.  See  INDEX  EXPUR- 
GATORIUS,  printed  for  use  of  Inmates. 

The  Superintendent,  who  went  round  with 
us,  had  been  a  noted  punster  in  his  time,  and 
well-known  in  the  business-world,  but  lost  his 
customers  by  making  too  free  with  their  names, 
—  as  in  the  famous  story  he  set  afloat  in  '29 
of  forgeries  attaching  to  the  names  of  a  noted 
Judge,  an  eminent  Lawyer,  the  Secretary  of  the 
Board  of  Foreign  Missions,  and  the  well-known 
Landlord  at  Springfield.  One  of  the  four  Jer 
ries,  he  added,  was  of  gigantic  magnitude. 


354      A    VISIT  TO   THE  ASYLUM  FOR 

The  Superintendent  showed  some  of  his  old 
tendencies  as  he  went  round  with  us. 

"  Do  you  know  "  —  he  broke  out  all  at  once 
—  "  why  they  don't  take  steppes  in  Tartary  for 
establishing  Insane  'Hospitals  ?  " 

We  both  confessed  ignorance. 

"  Because  there  are  nomad  people  to  be  found 
there,"  he  said,  with  a  dignified  smile. 

He  proceeded  to  introduce  us  to  different  In 
mates.  Tke  first  was  a  middle-aged,  scholarly 
man,  who  was  seated  at  a  table  with  a  Web 
ster's  Dictionary  and  a  sheet  of  paper  before 
him. 

"Well,  what  luck  to-day,  Mr.  Mowzer  ? " 
said  the  Superintendent. 

He  turned  to  his  notes  and  read  :  — 

"  Don't  you  see  Webster  ers  in  the  words 
center  and  theater? 

"  If  he  spells  leather  leiher,  and  feather  f ether  ^ 
is  n't  there  danger  that  he  '11  give  us  a  bad  spell 
of  weather  ? 

"  Besides,  Webster  is  a  resurrectionist ;  he 
does  not  allow  u  to  rest  quietly  in  the  mould. 

"  And  again,  because  Mr.  Worcester  inserts 


AGED  AND  DECAYED  PUNSTERS.    355 

an  illustration  in  his  text,  is  that  any  reason 
why  Mr.  Webster's  publishers  should  hitch  one 
on  in  their  appendix  ?  It 's  what  I  call  a 
Connect- a-cut  trick. 

"  Why  is  his  way  of  spelling  like  the  floor  of 
an  oven  ?  Because  it  is  under  bread." 

"  Mowzer  !  "  said  the  Superintendent,  — 
"  that  word  is  on  the  Index !  " 

"  I  forgot,"  said  Mr.  Mowzer ;  —  "  please 
don't  deprive  me  of  Vanity  Fair,  this  one  time, 
Sir. 

"  These  are  all,  this  morning.  Good  day, 
Gentlemen.  Then  to  the  Superintendent,  — 
Add  you,  Sir !  " 

The  next  Inmate  was  a  semi-idiotic-looking 
old  man.  He  had  a  heap  of  block-letters  before 
him,  and,  as  we  came  up,  he  pointed,  without 
saying  a  word,  to  the  arrangements  he  had 
made  with  them  on  the  table.  They  were  evi 
dently  anagrams,  and  had  the  merit  of  trans 
posing  the  letters  of  the  words  employed  without 
addition  or  subtraction.  Here  are  a  few  of 
them  :  — 


356      A    VISIT.  TO   THE  ASYLUM  FOR 

TIMES.  SMITE  ! 

POST.  STOP  ! 

TRIBUNE.  TRUE  NIB. 

WORLD.  DR.   OWL. 

(  KES  VERI  DAT. 
ADVERTISER.  j  ls  TRUE.    READ! 

ALLOPATHY.  ALL  o'  TII'  PAY. 

HOMCEOPATHY.  0,  THE  !    0  !    0,    MY !    PAH ! 

The  mention  of  several  New  York  papers  led 
to  two  or  three  questions.  Thus  :  Whether  the 
Editor  of  the  Tribune  was  H.  Gr.  really  ?  If  the 
complexion"  of  his  politics  were  not  accounted 
for  by  his  being  an  eager  person  himself? 
Whether  Wendell  Fillips  were  not  a  reduced 
copy  of  John  Knocks  ?  Whether  a  New  York 
Feuilletoniste  is  not  the  same  thing  as  a  Felloiv 
down  East? 

At  this  time  a  plausible-looking,  bald-headed 
man  joined  us,  evidently  waiting  to  take  a  part 
in  the  conversation. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Higgles,"  said  the  Su 
perintendent.  "  Anything  fresh  this  morning  ? 
Any  Conundrum  ?  " 

"  Nothing  of  any  account,"  he  answered. 
"We  had  hasty-pudding  yesterday." 

"  What  has  that  got  to  do  with  conundrums  ?  " 
asked  the  Superintendent. 


AGED  AND  DECAYED  PUNSTERS.    357 

"  I  asked  the  Inmates  why  it  was  like  the 
Prince." 

"  O  !  because  it  comes  attended  by  its  sweet" 
said  the  Superintendent. 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Higgles,  "  it  is  because  the 
'lasses  runs  after  it." 

"  Higgles  is  failing,"  said  the  Superintendent, 
as  we  moved  on. 

The  next  Inmate  looked  as  if  he  might  have 
been  a  sailor  formerly. 

"  Ask  him  what  his  calling  was,"  said  the 
Superintendent. 

"  Followed  the  sea,"  he  replied  to  the  ques 
tion  put  by  one  of  us.  "  Went  as  mate  in  a 
fishing-schooner." 

"  Why  did  you  give  it  up  ?  " 

"  Because  I  did  n't  like  working  for  tivo-mast- 
ers"  he  replied. 

Presently  we  came  upon  a  group  of  elderly 
persons,  gathered  about  a  venerable  gentleman 
with  flowing  locks,  who  was  propounding  ques 
tions  to  a  row  of  Inmates. 

"  Can  any  Inmate  give  me  a  motto  for  M. 
Berger  ?  "  he  said. 


358      A    VISIT  TO   THE  ASYLUM  FOR 

Nobody  responded  for  two  or  three  minutes. 
At  last  one  old  man,  whom  I  at  once  recognized 

O 

as  a  Graduate  of  our  University,  (Anno  1800,) 
held  up  his   hand. 

"  Hem  a  cue  tetigit." 

"  Go  to  the  head  of  the  Class,  Josselyn,"  said 
the  venerable  Patriarch. 

The  successful  Inmate  did  as  he  was  told,  but 
in  a  very  rough  way,  pushing  against  two  or 
three  of  the  Class. 

"How  is  this?"  said  the  Patriarch. 

"  You  told  me  to  go  up  jogttm',"  he  replied. 

The  old  gentlemen  who  had  been  shoved 
about  enjoyed  the  Pun  too  much  to  be  angry. 

Presently  the  Patriarch  asked  again,  — 

"  Why  was  M.  Berger  authorized  to  go  to 
the  dances  given  to  the  Prince  ?  " 

The  Class  had  to  give  up  this,  and  he  an 
swered  it  himself:  — 

"  Because  every  one  of  his  carroms  was  a 
tick-it  to  the  loll." 

"  Who  collects  the  money  to  defray  the  ex 
penses  of  the  last  campaign  in  Italy  ?  "  asked 
the  Patriarch. 


AGED  AND  DECAYED  PUNSTERS     359 

% 

Here  again  the  Class  failed. 

"  The  war-cloud's  rolling  Dun"  he  answered. 

"  And  what  is  mulled  wine  made  with  ?  " 

Three  or  four  voices  exclaimed  at  once,  — 

"  Sizzle-y  Madeira  !  " 

Here  a  servant  entered,  and  said  "  Luncheon- 
time."  The  old  gentlemen,  who  have  excellent 
appetites,  dispersed  at  once,  one  of  them  politely 
asking  us  if  we  would  not  stop  and  have  a  bit 
of  bread  and  a  little  mite  of  cheese. 

"  There  is  one  thing  I  have  forgotten  to  show 
you,"  said  the  Superintendent,  —  "  the  cell  for 
the  confinement  of  violent  and  unmanageable 
Punsters." 

We  were  very  curious  to  see  it,  particularly 
with  reference  to  the  alleged  absence  of  every 
object  upon  which  a  play  of  words  could  pos 
sibly  be  made. 

The  Superintendent  led  us  up  some  dark 
stairs  to  a  corridor,  then  along  a  narrow  pas 
sage,  then  down  a  broad  flight  of  steps  into 
another  passage-way,  and  opened  a  large  door 
which  looked  out  on  the  main  entrance. 
"  We  have  not  seen  the  cell  for  the  confine- 


360      A    VISIT  TO   THE  ASYLUM  FOR 

ment  of  '  violent  and  unmanageable '  Punsters," 
we  both  exclaimed. 

"  This  is  the  sell!  "  he  exclaimed,  pointing  to 
the  outside  prospect. 

My  friend,  the  Director,  looked  me  in  the 
face  so  good-naturedly  that  I  had  to  laugh. 

"  We  like  to  humor  the  Inmates,"  he  said. 
"  It  has  a  bad  effect,  we  find,  on  their  health 
and  spirits  to  disappoint  them  of  their  little 
pleasantries.  Some  of  the  jests  to  which  we 
have  listened  are  not  new  to  me,  though  I  dare 
say  you  may  not  have  heard  them  often  before. 
The  same  thing  happens  in  general  society,  with 
this  additional  disadvantage,  that  there  is  no 
punishment  provided  for  *  violent  and  unman 
ageable  '  Punsters,  as  in  our  Institution." 

We  made  our  bow  to  the  Superintendent  and 
walked  to  the  place  where  our  carriage  was 
waiting  for  us.  On  our  way,  an  exceedingly 
decrepit  old  man  moved  slowly  towards  us,  with 
a  perfectly  blank  look  on  his  face,  but  still  ap 
pearing  as  if  he  wished  to  speak. 

"  Look  !  "  said  the  Director,  —  "  that  is  our 
Centenarian." 


AGED  AND  DECAYED  PUNSTERS.    361 

The  ancient  man  crawled  towards  us,  cocked 
one  eye,  with  which  he  seemed  to  see  a  little,  up 
at  us,  and  said,  — 

"  Sarvant,  young  Gentlemen.  Why  is  a  — 
a  —  a  —  like  a  —  a  —  a  —  ?  Give  it  up  ?  Be 
cause  it's  a  —  a  —  a  —  a  — ." 

He  smiled  a  pleasant  smile,  as  if  it  were  all 
plain  enough. 

"  One  hundred  and  seven  last  Christmas," 
said  the  Director.  "  He  lost  his  answers  about 
the  age  of  ninety-eight.  Of  late  years  he  puts 
his  whole  Conundrums  in  blank,  —  but  they 
please  him  just  as  well." 

We  took  our  departure,  much  gratified  and 
instructed  by  our  visit,  hoping  to  have  some 
future  opportunity  of  inspecting  the  Records  of 
this  excellent  Charity,  and  making  extracts  for 
the  benefit  of  our  Readers. 


THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT. 


EARLY  in  the  month   of  November  the 
mysterious  curtain  which  has  hidden  the 
work  long  in  progress  at  the  Boston  Music  Hall 
will  be  lifted,  and  the  public  will  throng  to  look 
upon  and  listen  to  the  GREAT  ORGAN. 

It  is  the  most  interesting  event  in  the  musical 
history  of  the  New  World.  Tlie  masterpiece 
of  Europe's  master-builder  is  to  uncover  its 
veiled  front  and  give  voice  to  its  long-brooding 
harmonies.  The  most  precious  work  of  Art 
that  ever  floated  from  one  continent  to  the  other 
is  to  be  formally  displayed  before  a  great  assem 
bly.  The  occasion  is  one  of  well-earned  re 
joicing,  almost  of  loud  triumph ;  for  it  is  the 
crowning  festival  which  rewards  an  untold  sum 
of  devoted  and  conscientious  labor,  carried  on, 
without  any  immediate  recompense,  through  a 


THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT.          363 

long  series  of  years,  to  its  now  perfect  consum 
mation.  The  whole  community  will  share  in 
the  deep  satisfaction  with  which  the  public- 
spirited  citizens  who  have  encouraged  this  noble 
undertaking,  and  the  enterprising  and  untiring 
lover  of  science  and  art  who  has  conducted  it 
from  the  first,  may  look  upon  their  completed 
task. 

What  is  this  wondrous  piece  of  mechanism 
which  has  cost  so  much  time  and  money,  and 
promises  to  become  one  of  the  chief  attractions 
of  Boston  and  a  source  of  honest  pride  to  all 
cultivated  Americans  ?  The  organ,  as  its  name 
implies,  is  the  instrument,  in  distinction  from  all 
other  and  less  noble  instruments.  We  might 
almost  think  it  was  called  organ  as  being  a  part 
of  an  unfinished  organism,  a  kind  of  Franken 
stein-creation,  half  framed  and  half  vitalized. 
It  breathes  like  an  animal,  but  its  huge  luno-s 
must  be  filled  and  emptied  by  alien  force.  It 
has  a  wilderness  of  windpipes,  each  furnished 
with  its  own  vocal  adjustment,  or  larynx. 
Thousands  of  long,  delicate  tendons  govern  its 
varied  internal  movements,  themselves  obedient 


364          THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT. 

to  the  human  muscles  which  are  commanded  by 
the  human  brain,  which  again  is  guided  in  its 
volitions  by  the  voice  of  the  great  half-living 
creature.  A  strange  cross  between  the  form 
and  functions  of  animated  beings,  on  the  one 
hand,  and  the  passive  conditions  of  inert  ma 
chinery,  on  the  other !  Its  utterance  rises 
through  all  the  gamut  of  Nature's  multitudinous 
voices,  and  has  a  note  for  all  her  outward 
sounds  and  inward  moods.  Its  thunder  is  deep 
as  that  of  billows  that  tumble  through  ocean- 

O 

caverns,  and  its  whistle  is  sharper  than  that  of 
the  wind  through  their  narrowest  crevice.  It 
roars  louder  than  the  lion  of  the  desert,  and  it 
can  draw  out  a  thread  of  sound  as  fine  as  the 
locust  spins  at  hot  noon  on  his  still  tree-top. 
Its  clustering  columns  are  as  a  forest  in  which 
every  music-flowering  tree  and  shrub  finds  its 
representative.  It  imitates  all  instruments  ;  it 
cheats  the  listener  with  the  sound  of  singing 
choirs  ;  it  strives  for  a  still  purer  note  than  can 
be  strained  from  human  throats,  and  emulates 
the  host  of  .heaven  with  its  unearthly  "voice 
of  angels."  Within  its  breast  all  the  passions  of 


THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT.          365 

humanity  seem  to  reign  in  turn.  It  moans  with 
the  dull  ache  of  grief,  and  cries  with  the  sudden 
thrill  of  pain  ;  it  sighs,  it  shouts,  it  laughs,  it 
exults,  it  wails,  it  pleads,  it  trembles,  it  shud 
ders,  it  threatens,  it  storms,  it  rages,  it  is  soothed, 
it  slumbers. 

Such  is  the  organ,  man's  nearest  approach  to 
the  creation  of  a  true  organism. 

But  before  the  audacious  conception  of  this 
instrument  ever  entered  the  imagination  of  man, 
before  he  had  ever  drawn  a  musical  sound  from 
pipe  or  string,  the  chambers  where  the  royal 
harmonies  of  his  grandest  vocal  mechanism  were 
to  find  worthy  reception  were  shaped  in  his  own 
marvellous  structure.  The  organ  of  hearing 
was  finished  by  its  Divine  Builder  while  yet  the 
morning  stars  sang  together,  and  the  voices  of 
the  young  creation  joined  in  their  first  choral 
symphony.  We  have  seen  how  the  mechanism 
of  the  artificial  organ  takes  on  the  likeness  of 
life  ;  we  shall  attempt  to  describe  the  living  or- 
gau  in  common  language  by  the  aid  of  such  im 
ages  as  our  ordinaiy  dwellings  furnish  us.  The 
unscientific  reader  need  not  take  notice  of  the 
words  in  parentheses. 


366  THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT. 

The  annexed  diagram  may  render  it  easier  to 
follow  the  description. 

Ivl 


The  structure  which  is  to  admit  Sound  as  a 
visitor  is  protected  and  ornamented  at  its  en 
trance  by  a  light  movable  awning  (the  external 
ear).  Beneath  and  within  this  opens  a  recess 
or  passage  (meatus  auditorius  externus),  at  the 
farther  end  .of  which  is  the  parchment-like  front 
door,  D  (membrana  tympani). 

Beyond  this  is  the  hall  or  entry,  H,  (cavity 
of  the  tympanum,)  which  has  a  ventilator,  V, 
(Eustachian  tube,)  communicating  with  the 
outer  air,  and  two  windows,  one  oval,  o,  (fenes- 
tra  ovalis,)  one  round,  r,  (fenestra  rotunda,) 
both  filled  with  parchment-like  membrane,  and 


THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT.          367 

looking  upon  the  inner  suite  of  apartments  (lab 
yrinth). 

This  inner  suite  of  apartments  consists  of  an 
antechamber,  A,  (vestibule,)  an  arched  cham 
ber,  B,  (semicircular  canals,)  and  a  spiral  cham 
ber,  S,  (cochlea,*)  with  a  partition,  P,  dividing  it 
across,  except  for  a  small  opening  at  one  end. 
The  antechamber  opens  freely  into  the  arched 
chamber,  and  into  one  side  of  the  partitioned 
spiral  chamber.  The  other  side  of  this  spiral 
chamber  looks  on  the  hall  by  the  round  window 
already  mentioned  ;  the  oval  window  looking  on 
the  hall  belongs  to  the  antechamber.  From  the 
front-door  to  the  oval  window  of  the  antecham 
ber  extends  a  chain,  <?,  (ossicula  auditiis,)  so 
connected  that  a  knock  on  the  first  is  trans 
mitted  instantly  to  the  second.  But  as  the 
round  window  of  the  spiral  chamber  looks  into 
the  hall,  the  knock  at  the  front  door  will  also 
make  itself  heard  at  and  through  that  window, 
being  conveyed  along  the  hall. 

In  each  division  of  the  inner  suite  of  apart 
ments  are  the  watchmen,  (branches  of  the  au 
ditory  nerve,)  listening  for  the  approach  of 


368  THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT. 

Sound.  The  visitor  at  length  enters  the  porch, 
and  knocks  at  the  front-door.  The  watchmen 
in  the  antechamber  hear  the  blow  close  to  them, 
as  it  is  repeated,  through  the  chain,  on  the  win 
dow  of  their  apartment.  The  impulse  travels 
onward  into  the  arched  chamber,  and  startles  its 
tenants.  It  is  transmitted  into  one  half  of  the 
partioned  spiral  chamber,  and  rouses  the  recum 
bent  guardians  in  that  apartment.  Some  por 
tion  of  it  even  passes  the  small  opening  in  the 
partition,  and  reaches  the  watchmen  in  the 
other  half  of  the  room.  But  they  also  hear  it 
through  the  round  window,  not  as  it  comes 
through  the  chain,  but  as  it  resounds  along  the 
hall. 

Thus  the  summons  of  Sound  reaches  all  the 
watchmen,  but  not  all  of  them  through  the  same 
channels  or  with  the  same  force.  It  is  not  known 
how  their  several  precise  duties  are  apportioned, 
but  it  seems  probable  that  the  watchmen  in  the 
spiral  chamber  observe  the  pitch  of  the  audible 
impulse  which  reaches  them,  while  the  others 
take  cognizance  of  its  intensity  and  perhaps  of 
its  direction. 


7 •///•;   GREAT  INSTRUMENT. 


369 


Such  is  the  plan  of  the  organ  of  hearing,  as 
an  architect  might  describe  it.  But  the  details 
of  its  special  furnishing  are  so  intricate  and 
minute  that  no  anatomist  has  proved  equal  to 
their  entire  and  exhaustive  delineation.  A 
titled  observer,  the  Marquis  Corti,  has  hith 
erto  proved  most  successful  in  describing  the 
wonderful  key-board  found  in  the  spiral  cham 
ber,  the  complex  and  symmetrical  beauty  of 
which  is  absolutely  astonishing  to  those  who 
study  it  by  the  aid  of  the  microscope.  The 
figure  annexed  shows  a  small  portion  of  this 
extraordinary  structure.  It  is  from  Kolliker's 
well-known  work  on  Microscopic  Anatomy. 


Enough  has  been  said  to  show  that  the  ear  is 
as  carefully  adjusted  to  respond  to  the  blended 


16* 


370  THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT. 

impressions  of  sound  as  the  eye  to  receive  the 
mingled  rays  of  light ;  and  that  as  the  telescope 
presupposes  the  lens  and  the  retina,  so  the  organ 
presupposes  the  resonant  membranes,  the  laby 
rinthine  chambers,  and  the  delicately  suspended 
or  exquisitely  spread-out  nervous  filaments  of 
that  other  organ,  whose  builder  is  the  Architect 
of  the  universe,  and  the  Master  of  all  its  har 
monies. 

Not  less  an  object  of  wonder  is  that  curious 
piece  of  mechanism,  the  most  perfect,  within  its 
limited  range  of  powers,  of  all  musical  instru 
ments,  the  organ  of  the  human  voice.  It  is  the 
highest  triumph  of  our  artificial  contrivances  to 
reach  a  tone  like  that  of  a  singer,  and  among  a 
hundred  organ-stops  none  excites  such  admira 
tion  as  the  vox  humana ;  a  brief  account  of  the 
vocal  organ  will  not,  therefore,  be  out  of  place. 

The  principles  of  the  action  of  the  larynx  are 
easily  illustrated  by  reference  to  the  simpler 
musical  instruments.  In  a  flute  or  flageolet  the 
musical  sound  is  produced  by  the  vibration  of  a 
column  of  air  contained  in  its  interior.  In  a 
clarinet  or  a  bassoon  another  source  of  sound 


THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT.          371 

is  added  in  the  form  of  a  thin  slip  of  wood  con 
tained  in  the  mouth-piece,  and  called  the  reed, 
the  vibrations  of  which  give  a  superadded  nasal 
thrill  to  the  resonance  of  the  column  of  air. 

The  human  organ  of  voice  is  like  the  clarinet 
and  the  bassoon.  The  windpipe  is  the  tube 
containing  the  column  of  air.  The  larynx  is 
the  mouth-piece  containing  the  reed.  But  the 
reed  is  double,  consisting  of  two  very  thin  mem 
branous  edges,  which  are  made  tense  or  relaxed, 
and  have  the  interval  between  them,  through 
which  the  air  rushes,  narrowed  or  widened  by 
the  instinctive,  automatic  action  of  a  set  of  little 
muscles.  The  vibration  of  these  membranous 
edges  (cliordcB  vocales)  produces  a  musical 
sound,  just  as  the  vibration  of  the  edge  of  a 
finger-bowl  produces  one  when  a  wet  finger  is 
passed  round  it.  The  cavities  of  the  nostrils, 
and  their  side-chambers,  with  their  light,  elastic 
sounding-boards  of  thin  bone,  are  essential  to 
the  richness  of  the  tone,  as  all  singers  find  out 
when  those  passages  are  obstructed  by  a  cold  in 
the  head. 

The  human  voice,   perfect  as  it  may   be    in 


372  THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT. 

tone,  is  yet  always  very  deficient  in  compass,  as 
is  obvious  from  the  fact  that  the  bass  voice,  the 
barytone,  the  contralto,  and  the  soprano  have 
all  different  registers,  and  are  all  required  to 
produce  a  complete  vocal  harmony.  If  we 
could  make  organ-pipes  with  movable,  self-regu 
lating  lips,  with  self-shortening  and  self-length 
ening  tubes,  so  that  each  tube  should  command 
the  two  or  three  octaves  of  the  human  voice,  a 
very  limited  number  of  them  would  be  required. 
But  as  each  tube  has  but  a  single  note,  we  un 
derstand  why  we  have  those  immense  clusters 
of  hollow  columns.  As  we  wish  to  produce 
different  effects,  sometimes  using  the  pure  flute- 
sounds,  at  other  times  preferring  the  nasal  thrill 
of  the  reed-instruments,  we  see  why  some  of  the 
tubes  have  simple  mouths  and  others  are  fur 
nished  with  vibratory  tongues.  And,  lastly,  we 
can  easily  understand  that  the  great  interior 
spaces  of  the  organ  must  of  themselves  furnish 
those  resonant  surfaces  which  we  saw  provided 
for,  on  a  small  scale,  in  the  nasal  passages,  — - 
the  sounding-board  of  the  human  larynx. 


THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT.          373 

The  great  organ  of  the  Music  Hall  is  a  choir 
of  nearly  six  thousand  vocal  throats.  Its  largest 
windpipes  are  thirty-two  feet  in  length,  and  a 
man  can  crawl  through  them.  Its  finest  tuhes 
are  too  small  for  a  baby's  whistle.  Eighty-nine 
stops  produce  the  various  changes  and  combina 
tions  of  which  its  immense  orchestra  is  capable, 
from  the  purest  solo  of  a  singing  nun  to  the 
loudest  chorus  in  which  all  its  groups  of  voices 
have  their  part  in  the  full  flow  of  its  harmonies. 
Like  all  instruments  of  its  class,  it  contains  sev 
eral  distinct  systems  of  pipes,  commonly  spoken 
of  as  separate  organs,  and  capable  of  being 
played  alone  or  in  connection  with  each  other. 
Four  manuals,  or  hand  key-boards,  and  two 
pedals,  or  foot  key-boards,  command  these  sev 
eral  systems,  —  the  solo  organ,  the  choir  organ, 
the  swell  organ,  and  the  great  organ,  and  the 
piano  and  forte  pedal-organ.  Twelve  pairs  of 
bellows,  which  it  is  intended  to  move  by  water- 
power,  derived  from  the  Cochituate  reservoirs, 
furnish  the  breath  which  pours  itself  forth  in 
music.  Those  beautiful  effects,  for  which  the 
organ  is  incomparable,  the  crescendo  and  dimin- 


374          THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT. 

uendo,  —  the  gradual  rise  of  the  sound  from  the 
lowest  murmur  to  the  loudest  blast,  and  the 
dying  fall  by  which  it  steals  gently  back  into 
silence,  —  the  dissolving  views,  so  to  speak,  of 
harmony,  —  are  not  only  provided  for  in  the 
swell-organ,  but  may  be  obtained  by  special 
adjustments  from  the  several  systems  of  pipes 
and  from  the  entire  instrument. 

It  would  be  anticipating  the  proper  time  for 
judgment,  if  we  should  speak  of  the  excellence 
of  the  musical  qualities  of  the  great  organ  before 
having  had  the  opportunity  of  hearing  its  full 
powers  displayed.  We  have  enjoyed  the  privi 
lege,  granted  to  few  as  yet,  of  listening  to  some 
portions  of  the  partially  mounted  instrument, 
from  which  we  can  confidently  infer  that  its 
effect,  when  all  its  majestic  voices  find  utter 
ance,  must  be  noble  and  enchanting  beyond  all 
common  terms  of  praise.  But  even  without 
such  imperfect  trial,  we  have  a  right,  merely 
from  a  knowledge  of  its  principles  of  construc 
tion,  of  the  pre-eminent  skill  of  its  builder,  of 
the  time  spent  in  its  making,  of  the  extraor 
dinary  means  taken  to  insure  its  perfection, 


THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT.          375 

and  of  the  liberal  scale  of  expenditure  which 
has  rendered  all  the  rest  possible,  to  feel  sure 
that  we  are  to  hear  the  instrument  which  is  and 
will  probably  long  remain  beyond  dispute  the 
first  of  the  New  World  and  second  to  none 
in  the  Old  in  the  sum  of  its  excellences  and 
capacities. 

The  mere  comparison  of  numbers  of  pipes 
and  of  stops,  or  of  external  dimensions,  though 
it  gives  an  approximative  idea  of  the  scale  of  an 
organ,  is  not  so  decisive  as  it  might  seem  as  to 
its  real  musical  effectiveness.  In  some  cases, 
many  of  the  stops  are  rather  nominal  than  of 
any  real  significance.  Even  in  the  Haarlem 
organ,  which  has  only  about  two  thirds  as  many 
as  the  Boston  one,  Dr.  Burney  says,  "  The 
variety  they  afford  is  by  no  means  what  might 
be  expected."  It  is  obviously  easy  to  multiply 
the  small  pipes  to  almost  any  extent.  The 
dimensions  of  an  organ,  in  its  external  aspect, 
must  depend  a  good  deal  on  the  height  of  the 
edifice  in  which  it  is  contained.  Thus,  the 
vaulted  roof  of  the  Cathedral  of  Ulm  permitted 
the  builder  of  our  Music-Hail  organ  to  pile  the 


376          THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT. 

facade  of  the  one  he  constructed  for  that  edifice 
up  to  the  giddy  elevation  of  almost  a  hundred 
feet,  while  the  famous  instrument  in  the  Town 
Hall  of  Birmingham  has  only  three  quarters  of 
the  height  of  our  own,  which  is  sixty  feet.  It 
is  obvious,  also,  that  the  effective  power  of  an 
organ  does  not  depend  merely  on  its  size,  but 
that  the  perfection  of  all  its  parts  will  have  quite 
as  much  to  do  with  it.  In  judging  a  vocalist, 
we  can  form  but  a  very  poor  guess  of  the  com 
pass,  force,  quality  of  the  voice,  from  a  mere 
inspection  of  the  throat  and  chest.  In  the  case 
of  the  organ,  however,  we  have  the  advantage  of 
being  able  to  minutely  inspect  every  throat  and 
larynx,  to  walk  into  the  interior  of  the  working 
mechanism,  and  to  see  the  adaptation  of  each 
part  to  its  office.  In  absolute  power  and  com 
pass  the  Music-Hall  organ  ranks  among  the 
three  or  four  mightiest  instruments  ever  built. 
In  the  perfection  of  all  its  parts,  and  in  its 
whole  arrangements,  it  challenges  comparison 
with  any  the  world  can  show. 

Such  an  instrument  ought  to  enshrine  itself 
in  an  outward  frame  that  should  correspond  in 


THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT.          377 

some  measure  to  the  grandeur  and  loveliness  of 
its  own  musical  character.  It  has  been  a  dream 
of  metaphysicians,  that  the  soul  shaped  its  own 
body.  If  this  many-throated  singing  creature 
could  have  sung  itself  into  an  external  form,  it 
could  hardly  have  moulded  one  more  expressive 
of  its  own  nature.  We  must  leave  to  those 
more  skilled  in  architecture  the  detailed  descrip 
tion  of  that  noble  facade  which  fills  the  eye 
•with  music  as  the  voices  from  behind  it  fill  the 
mind  through  the  ear  with  vague,  dreamy  pic 
tures.  For  us  it  loses  all  technical  character  in 
its  relations  to  the  soul  of  which  it  is  the  body. 
It  is  as  if  a  glorious  anthem  had  passed  into 
outward  solid  form  in  the  very  ecstasy  of  its 
grandest  chorus.  Milton  has  told  us  of  such  a 
miracle,  wrought  by  fallen  angels,  it  is  true,  but 
in  a  description  rich  with  all  his  opulence  of 
caressing  and  ennobling  language  :  — 

"  Anon  out  of  the  earth  a  fabric  huge 
Rose,  like  an  exhalation,  with  the  sound 
Of  dulcet  symphonies  and  voices  sweet, 
Built  like  a  temple,  where  pilasters  round 
Were  set,  and  Doric  pillars  overlaid 
With  golden  architrave ;  nor  did  there  want 
Cornice  or  frieze  with  bossy  sculptures  graven." 


378  THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT. 

The  structure  is  of  black  walnut,  and  is  cov 
ered  with  carved  statues,  busts,  masks,  and 
figures  in  the  boldest  relief.  In  the  centre  a 
richly  ornamented  arch  contains  the  niche  for 
the  key-boards  and  stops.  A  colossal  mask  of 
a  singing  woman  looks  from  over  its  summit. 
The  pediment  above  is  surmounted  by  the  bust 
of  Johann  Sebastian  Bach.  Behind  this  rises 
the  lofty  central  division,  containing  pipes,  the 
arch  over  which  bears  a  fine  mask  of  Apollo,  and 
crowning  it  is  a  beautiful  sitting  statue  of  Saint 
Cecilia,  holding  her  lyre.  On  each  side  of  her 
a  griffin  sits  as  guardian.  This  centre  is  con 
nected  by  harp-shaped  compartments,  filled  with 
pipes,  to  the  two  great  round  towers,  one  on 
each  side,  and  each  of  them  containing  three 
colossal  pipes.  These  magnificent  towers  come 
boldly  forward  into  the  hall,  being  the  most 
prominent,  as  they  are  the  highest  and  stateliest, 
part  of  the  facade.  At  the  base  of  each  a 
gigantic  half-caryatid,  in  the  style  of  the  ancient 
hermce,  but  finished  to  the  waist,  bends  beneath 
the  superincumbent  weight,  like  Atlas  under  the 
globe.  These  figures  are  of  wonderful  force, 


THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT.          379 

the  muscular  development  almost  excessive,  but 
in   keeping  with  their   superhuman   task.      At 
each  side  of_the  base  two  lion-Jiermw  share  in 
the  task  of  the  giant.     Over  the  base  rise  the 
round  pillars  which  support  the  dome  and  en 
close  the  three  great  pipes  already  mentioned. 
Graceful  as  these  look  in  their  position,  half  a 
dozen  men  might  creep  into  one  of  them  and  lie 
hidden.     A  man  of  six  feet  high  went  up  a  lad 
der,  and  standing  at  the  base  of  one  of  them 
could  just  reach  to  put  his  hand  into  the  mouth 
at  its  lower  part  above  the  conical  foot.     The 
three  great  pipes  are  crowned  by  a  heavily  sculp 
tured,  ribbed,  rounded  dome,  and   this   is   sur 
mounted,  on  each  side,  by  two  cherubs,  whose 
heads  almost  touch  the  lofty  ceiling.    This  whole 
portion  of  the  sculpture  is  of  eminent  beauty. 
The  two  exquisite  cherubs  of  one  side  are  play 
ing  on  the  lyre  and  the  lute ;   those  of  the  other 
side  on  the  flute  and  the  horn.     All  the  reliefs 
that  run  round  the  lower  portion  of  the  dome 
are  of  singular  richness.     We  have  had  an  op 
portunity  of  seeing   one   of  the   artist's  photo 
graphs,  which  showed  in  detail  the  full-length 


380  THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT. 

figures  and  the  large  central  mask  of  this  por 
tion  of  the  work,  and  found  them  as  beautiful 
on  close  inspection  as  the  originals  at  a  distance. 

Two  other  lateral  compartments,  filled  with 
pipes  and  still  more  suggestive  of  the  harp  in 
their  form,  lead  to  the  square  lateral  towers. 
Over  these  compartments,  close  to  the  round 
tower,  sits  on  each  side  a  harper,  a  man  on  the 
right,  a  woman  on  the  left,  with  their  harps,  all 
apparently  of  natural  size.  The  square  towers, 
holding  pipes  in  their  open  interior,  are  lower 
than  the  round  towers,  and  fall  somewhat  back 
from  the  front.  Below,  three  colossal  hermce  of 
Sibyl-like  women  perform  for  them  the  office 
which  the  giants  and  the  lion-shapes  perform  for 
the  round  towers.  The  four  pillars  which  rise 
from  the  base  are  square,  and  the  dome  which 
surmounts  them  is  square  also.  .  Above  the  dome 
is  a  vase-like  support,  upon  which  are  disposed 
figures  of  the  lyre  and  other  musical  symbols. 

The  whole  base  of  the  instrument,  in  the  in 
tervals  of  the  figures  described,  is  covered  with 
elaborate  carvings.  Groups  of  musical  instru 
ments,  standing  out  almost  detached  from  the 


THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT.          381 

background,  occupy  the  panels.  Ancient  and 
modern,  clustered  with  careless  grace  and  quaint 
variety,  from  the  violin  down  to  a  string  of 
sleigh-bells,  they  call  up  all  the  echoes  of  for 
gotten  music,  such  as  the  thousand-tongued  or 
gan  blends  together  in  one  grand  harmony. 

^  The  instrument  is  placed  upon  a  low  platform, 
the  outlines  of  which  are  in  accordance  with  its 
own.  Its  whole  height  is  about  sixty  feet,  its 
breadth  forty-eight  feet,  and  its  average  depth 
twenty-four  feet.  Some  idea  of  its  magnitude 
may  be  got  from  the  fact  that  the  wind-ma 
chinery  and  the  swell-organ  alone  fill  up  the 
whole  recess  occupied  by  the  former  organ, 
which  was  not  a  small  one.  All  the  other  por 
tions  of  the  great  instrument  come  forward  into 
the  hall. 

In  front  of  its  centre  stands  Crawford's  no 
ble  bronze  statue  of  Beethoven,  the  gift  of  our 
townsman,  Mr.  Charles  Perkins.  It  might  be 
suggested  that  so  fine  a  work  of  Art  should 
have  a  platform  wholly  to  itself;  but  the  eye 
soon  reconciles  itself  to  the  position  of  the 
Statue,  and  the  tremulous  atmosphere  which 


382         -THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT. 

surrounds  the  vibrating  organ  is  that  which 
the  almost  breathing  figure  would  seem  to 
delight  in,  as  our  imagination  invests  it  with 
momentary  consciousness. 

As  we  return  to  the  impression  produced  by 
the  grand  fagade,  we  are  more  and  more  struck 
with  the  subtile  art  displayed  in  its  adaptations 
and  symbolisms.  Never  did  any  structure  we 
have  looked  upon  so  fully  justify  Madame  de 
Stael's  definition  of  architecture,  as  "  frozen 
music."  The  outermost  towers,  their  pillars 
and  domes,  are  all  square,  their  outlines  thus 
passing  without  too  sudden  transitions  from  the 
sharp  square  angles  of  the  vaulted  ceiling  and 
the  rectangular  lines  of  the  walls  of  the  hall 
itself  into  the  more  central  parts  of  the  instru 
ment,  where  a  smoother  harmony  of  outline  is 
predominant.  For  in  the  great  towers,  which 
step  forward,  as  it  were,  to  represent  the  mean 
ing  of  the  entire  structure,  the  lines  are  all 
curved,  as  if  the  slight  discords  which  gave 
sharpness  and  variety  to  its  less  vital  portions 
were  all  resolved  as  we  approached  its  throbbing 
heart.  And  again,  the  half  fantastic  repetitions 


THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT.          383 

of  musical  forms  in  the  principal  outlines,  —  the 
lyre-like  shape  of  the  bases  of  the  great  towers, 
the  harp-like  figure  of  the  connecting  wings, 
the  clustering  reeds  of  the  columns,  —  fill  the 
mind  with  musical  suggestions,  and  dispose  the 
wondering  spectator  to  become  the  entranced 
listener. 

The  great  organ  would  be  but  half  known,  if 
it  were  not  played  in  a  place  fitted  for  it  in 
dimensions.  In  the  open  air  the  sound  would 
be  diluted  and  lost ;  in  an  ordinary  hall  the 
atmosphere  would  be  churned  into  a  mere  tu 
mult  by  the  vibrations.  The  Boston  Music 
llall  is  of  ample  size  to  give  play  to  the  waves 
of  sound,  yet  not  so  large  that  its  space  will  not 
be  filled  and  saturated  with  the  overflowing 
resonance.  It  is  one  hundred  and  thirty  feet 
in  length  by  seventy-eight  in  breadth  and  sixty- 
five  in  height,  being  thus  of  somewhat  greater 
dimensions  than  the  celebrated  Town  Hall 
of  Birmingham.  At  the  time  of  building  it, 
(1852,)  its  great  height  was  ordered  partly 
with  reference  to  the  future  possibility  of  its 
being  furnished  with  a  large  organ.  It  will  be 


384       THE  ORE  AT 'INSTRUMENT. 

observed  that  the  three  dimensions  above  given 
are  all  multiples  of  the  same  number,  thirteen, 
the  length  being  ten  times,  the  breadth  six  times 
and  the  height  five  times  this  number.     This  is 
in  accordance  with  Mr.  Scott  Russell's  recom 
mendation,  which  has    been  explained   by  the 
fact  that  vibrating  solids  divide  into  harmonic 
lengths,  separated  by  nodal  points  of  rest,  and 
that  these  last  are  equally  distributed  at  aliquot 
parts  of  its  whole  length.     If  the  whole  extent 
of  the  walls  be  in  vibration,  its  angles   should 
come  in  at  the  nodal  points  in  order  to  avoid 
the  confusion    arising   from    different  vibrating 
lengths  ;  and  for  this  reason  they  are  placed  at 
aliquot  parts  of  its  entire  length.     Thus  the  hall 
is  itself  a  kind  of  passive  musical  instrument,  or 
at  least  a  sounding-board,  constructed  on  theo 
retical  principles.     Whatever  is  thought  of  the 
theory,  it  proves  in  practice  to  possess  the  excel 
lence  which  is  liable  to  be  lost  in  the  construction 
of  the  best-designed  edifice. 

We  have  thus  attempted  to  give  our  readers 
some  imperfect  idea   of  the  great  instrument, 


THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT.          385 

illustrating  it  by  the  objects  of  comparison  with 
which  we  are  most  familiar,  and  leaving  to 
others  the  more  elaborate  work  of  subjecting  it 
to  a  thorough  artistic  survey,  and  the  rigorous 
analysis  necessary  to  bring  out  the  various  de 
grees  of  excellence  in  its  special  qualities,  which, 
as  in  a  human  character,  will  be  found  to  mark 
its  individuality.  We  shall  proceed  to  give 
some  account  of  the  manner  in  which  the  plan 
of  obtaining  the  best  instrument  the  Old  World 
could  furnish  to  the  New  was  formed,  matured, 
and  carried  into  successful  execution. 

It  is  mainly  to  the  persistent  labors  of  a  single 
individual  that  our  community  is  indebted  for 
the  privilege  it  now  enjoys  in  possessing  an 
instrument  of  the  supreme  order,  such  as  make 
cities  illustrious  by  their  presence.  That  which 
is  on  the  lips  of  all  it  can  wrong  no  personal 
susceptibilities  to  tell  in  print ;  and  when  we  say 
that  Boston  owes  the  Great  Organ  chiefly  to 
the  personal  efforts  of  the  present  President  of 
the  Music-Hall  Association,  Dr.  J.  Baxter  Up- 
ham,  the  statement  is  only  for  the  information 
of  distant  readers. 


386          THE  GREAT  INSTRUMENT. 

Dr.  Upham  is  widely  known  to  the  medical 
profession  in  connection  with  important  contri 
butions  to  practical  science.  His  researches  on 
typhus-fever,  as  observed  by  him  at  different 
periods,  during  and  since  the  years  1847  and 
1848,  in  this  country,  and  as  seen  at  Dublin  and 
in  the  London  Fever  Hospital,  were  recognized 
as  valuable  contributions  to  the  art  of  medicine. 
More  recently,  as  surgeon  in  charge  of  the  Stan 
ley  General  Hospital,  Eighteenth  Army  Corps, 
he  has  published  an  account  of  the  "  Congestive 
Fever  "  prevailing  at  Newbern,  North  Carolina, 
during  the  winter  and  spring  of  1862-63.  We 
must  add  to  these  practical  labors  the  record  of 
his  most  ingenious  and  original  investigations 
of  the  circulation  in  the  singular  case  of  M. 
Groux,  which  had  puzzled  so  many  European 
experts,  and  to  which,  with  the  tact  of  a  musi 
cian,  he  applied  the  electro-magnetic  telegraphic 
apparatus  so  as  to  change  the  rapid  consecutive 
motions  of  different  parts  of  the  heart,  which 
puzzled  the  eye,  into  successive  sounds  of  a 
character  which  the  ear  could  recognize  in  their 
order.  It  was  during  these  experiments,  many 


THE  GREAT  INSTRUMENT.          387 
of  which  we  had   the  pleasure  of  witnessing 

A  O" 

that  the  "  side-show  "  was  exhibited  of  counting 

O 

the  patient's  pulse,  through  the  wires,  at  the 
Observatory  in  Cambridge,  while  it  was  beating 
in  Dr.  Upham's  parlor  in  Boston.  Nor  should 
we  forget  that  other  ingenious  contrivance  of  his, 
the  system  of  sound- signals,  devised  during  his 
recent  term  of  service  as  surgeon,  and  applied 
with  the  most  promising  results,  as  a  means  of 
intercommunication  between  different  portions 
of  the  same  armament. 

In  the  summer  of  1853,  less  than  a  year  after 
the  Music  Hall  was  opened  to  the  public,  Dr. 
Upham,  who  had  been  for  some  time  occupied 
with  the  idea  of  procuring  an  organ  worthy  of 
the  edifice,  made  a  tour  in  Europe  with  the 
express  object  of  seeing  some  of  the  most  famous 
instruments  of  the  Continent  and  of  Great 
Britain.  He  examined  many,  especially  in  Ger 
many,  and  visited  some  of  the  great  organ- 
builders,  going  so  far  as  to  obtain  specifications 
from  Mr.  Walcker  of  Ludwigsburg,  and  from 
Weigl,  his  pupil  at  Stuttgart.  On  returning  to 
this  country,  he  brought  the  proposition  of  pro- 


388  THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT. 

curing  a  great  instrument  in  Europe  in  various 
ways  before  the  public,  among  the  rest  by  his 
"  Reminiscences  of  a  Summer  Tour,"  published 
in  "  D wight's  Journal  of  Music."     After  this 
he  laid  the  matter  before  the  members  of  the 
Harvard  Musical  Association,  and,  having  thus 
gradually  prepared   the  way,   presented   it  for 
consideration  before  the  Board  of  Directors  of 
the  Music-Hall  Association.     A  committee  was 
appointed    "to    consider."      There    was   some 
division  of  opinion  as  to  the  expediency  of  the 
more  ambitious   plan  of  sending  abroad  for  a 
colossal  instrument.     There  was  a  majority  re 
port  in  its  favor,  and  a  verbal  minority  report 
advocating  a  more  modest  instrument  of  home 
manufacture.       Then    followed    the    anaconda- 
torpor  which  marks  the  process  of  digestion  of  a 
huge  and  as  yet  crude  project  by  a  multiver- 
tebrate  corporation. 

On  the  first  of  March,  1856,  the  day  of  the 
inauguration  of  Beethoven's  statue,  a  subscrip 
tion-paper  was  started,  headed  by  Dr.  Upham, 
for  raising  the  sum  of  ten  thousand  dollars.  At 
a  meeting  in  June  the  plan  was  brought  before 


Till:   HIIKAT  INSTRUMENT.          389 

the  stockholders  of  the  Music  Hall,  who  unani 
mously  voted  to  appropriate  ten  thousand  dollars 
and  the  proceeds  of  the  old  organ,  on  condition 
that  fifteen  thousand  dollars  should  be  raised  by 
private  subscription.  In  October  it  was  reported 
to  the  Directors  that  ten  thousand  dollars  of  this 
sum  were  already  subscribed,  and  Dr.  Upham, 
President  of  the  Board,  pledged  himself  to  raise 
the  remainder  on  certain  conditions,  which  were 
accepted.  He  was  then  authorized  to  go  abroad 
to  investigate  the  whole  subject,  with  full  powers 
to  select  the  builder  and  to  make  the  necessary 
contracts. 

Dr.  Upham  had  already  made  an  examina 
tion  of  the  best  organs  and  organ-factories  in 
New  England,  New  York,  and  elsewhere  in  this 
country,  and  received  several  specifications  and 
plans  from  builders.  He  proceeded  at  once, 
therefore,  to  Europe,  examined  the  great  English 
instruments,  made  the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Hop 
kins,  the  well-known  organist  and  recognized 
authority  on  all  matters  pertaining  to  the  instru 
ment,  and  took  lessons  of  him  in  order  to 
know  better  the  handling  of  the  keys  and  the 


390          THE  GREAT  INSTRUMENT. 

resources  of  the  instrument.  In  his  company, 
Dr.  Upham  examined  some  of  the  best  instru 
ments  in  London.  He  made  many  excursions 
among  the  old  churches  of  Sir  Christopher 
Wren's  building,  where  are  to  be  found  the  fine 
organs  of  "  Father  Smith,"  John  Snetzler,  and 
other  famous  builders  of  the  past.  He  visited  the 
workshops  of  Hill,  Gray  and  Davidson,  Willis, 
Robson  and  others.  He  made  a  visit  to  Oxford 
to  examine  the  beautiful  organ  in  Trinity  Col 
lege.  He  found  his  way  into  the  organ-lofts  of 
St.  Paul's,  of  Westminster  Abbey,  and  the  Tem 
ple  Church,  during  the  playing  at  morning  and 
evening  service.  He  inspected  Thompson's 
enharmonic  organ,  and  obtained  models  of  va 
rious  portions  of  organ-structure. 

From  London  Dr.  Upham  went  to  Holland, 
where  he  visited  the  famous  instruments  at 
Haarlem,  Amsterdam,  and  Rotterdam,  and  the 
organ-factory  at  Utrecht,  the  largest  and  best  in 
Holland.  Thence  to  Cologne,  where,  as  well 
as  at  Utrecht,  he  obtained  plans  and  schemes  of 
instruments ;  to  Hamburg,  where  are  fine  old 
organs,  some  of  them  built  two  or  three  centu- 


THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT.          391 

ries  ago ;  to  Lubeck,  Dresden,  Breslau,  Leipsic, 
Halle,  Merseburg.      Here  he  found  a  splendid 
organ  built   by  Ladergast,   whose   instruments 
excel  especially  in  their  tone  effects.     A  letter 
from  Liszt,  the  renowned  pianist,  recommended 
this  builder  particularly  to  Dr.  Upham's  choice. 
At  Frankfort  and  at  Stuttgart  he  found  two 
magnificent  instruments,  built  by  Walcker  of 
Ludwigsburg,   to  which   place   he   repaired   in 
order  to  examine  his  factories  carefully,  for  the 
second  time.     Thence  the  musical  tourist  pro 
ceeded  to  Ulm,  where  is  the  sumptuous  organ, 
the  work  of  the  same  builder,  ranking,  we  be 
lieve,  first  in  point  of  dimensions  of  all  in  the 
world.      Onward   still,    to    Munich,    Bamberg, 
Augsburg,  Nuremberg,  along  the  Lake  of  Con 
stance  to  Weingarten,  where  is  that  great  organ 
claiming  to  have  sixty-six  stops  and  six  thousand 
six  hundred  and  sixty-six  pipes  ;  to  Freyburg, 
in  Switzerland,  where  is  another  great  organ, 
noted  for  the  rare  beauty  of  its  vox-humana  stop, 
the  mechanism  of  which  had  been  specially  stud 
ied  by  Mr.  Walcker,  who  explained  it  to  Dr. 
Uphain. 


392          THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT. 

Returning  to  Ludwigsburg,  Dr.  Upham  re 
ceived  another  specification  from  Mr.  Walcker. 
He  then  passed  some  time  at  Frankfort  examin 
ing  the  specifications  already  received,  and  the 
additional  ones  which  came  to  him  while  there. 
At  last,   by   the   process   of   exclusion,    the 
choice   was   narrowed    down   to   three   names, 
Schultze,  Ladergast,  and  Walcker,  then  to  the 
two  last.     There  was  still  a  difficulty  in  decid 
ing  between  these.     Dr.  Upham  called  in  Mr. 
Walcker's  partner  and  son,  who  explained  every 
point  on  which  he  questioned   them  with   the 
utmost  minuteness.     Still  undecided,  he  revisited 
Merseburg  and  Weissenfels,  to  give  Ladergast's 
instruments  another  trial.     The  result  was  that 
he  asked  Mr.  Walcker  for  a  third  specification, 
with  certain  additions  and  alterations  which  he 
named.     This  he  received,  and  finally  decided 
m  his  favor,  — but  with  the  condition  that  Mr. 
Walcker  should  meet  him  in  Paris  for  the  pur 
pose  of  examining  the  French  organs  with  refer 
ence  to  any  excellences  of  which  he  might  avail 
himself,  and  afterwards  proceed  to  London  and 
inspect  the  English  instruments  with  the  same 
object. 


THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT.          393 

The  details  of  tins  joint  tour  are  very  inter 
esting,  but  we  have  not  space  for  them.  The 
frank  enthusiasm  with  which  the  great  German 
organ-builder  was  welcomed  in  France  contrasted 
forcibly  with  the  quiet,  not  to  say  cool,  way  in 
which  the  insular  craftsmen  received  him,  grad 
ually,  however,  warming,  and  at  last,  with  a 
certain  degree  of  effort,  admitting  him  to  their 
confidence. 

A  fortnight  was  spent  by  Dr.  Upham  in  com 
pany  with  Walcker  and  Mr.  Hopkins  in  study 
ing  and  perfecting  the  specification,  which  was 
at  •  last  signed  in  German  and  English,  and 
stamped  with  the  notarial  seal,  and  thus  the 

contract  made  binding 
& 

A  long  correspondence  relating  to  the  instru 
ment  followed  between  Dr.  Upham,  the  builder, 
and  Mr.  Hopkins,  ending  only  with  the  ship 
ment  of  the  instrument.  A  most  interesting 
part  of  this  was  Dr.  Upham's  account  of  his 
numerous  original  experiments  with  the  natural 
larynx,  made  with  reference  to  determining  the 
conditions  requisite  for  the  successful  imitation 
of  the  human  voice  in  the  arrangement  called 
17* 


394          THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT. 

vox  humana.  Mr.  Walcker  has  availed  himself 
of  the  results  of  these  experiments  in  the  stop  as 
made  for  this  organ,  but  with  what  success  we 
are  unable  to  say,  as  the  pipes  have  not  been  set 
in  place  at  the  time  of  our  writing.  As  there  is 
always  great  curiosity  to  hear  this  particular 
stop,  we  will  guard  our  readers  against  disap 
pointment  by  quoting  a  few  remarks  about  that 
of  the  Haarlem  organ,  made  by  the  liveliest  of 
musical  writers,  Dr.  Burney. 

"  As  to  the  vox  humana,  which  is  so  cele 
brated,  it  does  not  at  all  resemble  a  human 
voice,  though  a  very  good  stop  of  the  kind  ;  but 
the  world  is  very  apt  to  be  imposed  upon  by 
names  ;  the  instant  a  common  hearer  is  told  that 
an  organist  is  playing  upon  a  stop  which  resem 
bles  the  human  voice,  he  supposes  it  to  be  very 
fine,  and  never  inquires  into  the  propriety  of  the 
name,  or  exactness  of  the  imitation.  However, 
with  respect  to  our  own  feelings,  we  must  con 
fess,  that,  of  all  the  stops  which  we  have  yet 
heard,  that  have  been  honored  with  the  appella 
tion  of  vox  humana,  no  one  in  the  treble  part 
has  ever  reminded  us  of  anything  human,  so 


THE  GREAT  INSTRUMENT.          395 

much  as  the  cracked  voice  of  an  old  woman  of 
ninety,  or,  in  the  lower  parts,  of  Punch  singing 
through  a  comb."  Let  us  hope  that  this  most 
irreverent  description  will  not  apply  to  the  vox 
humana  of  our  instrument,  after  all  the  science 
and  skill  that  have  been  expended  upon  it. 
Should  it  prove  a  success  like  that  of  the  Frey- 
burg  organ,  there  will  be  pilgrimages  from  the 
shores  of  the  Pacific  and  the  other  side  of  the 
Atlantic  to  listen  to  the  organ  that  can  sing , 
and  what  can  be  a  more  miraculous  triumph  of 
art  than  to  cheat  the  ear  with  such  an  enchant 
ing  delusion. 

Before  the  organ  could  be  accepted,  it  was 
required  by  the  terms  of  the  contract  to  be  set 
up  at  the  factory,  and  tested  by  three  persons  : 
one  to  be  selected  by  the  Organ  Committee  of 
the  Music-Hall  Association,  one  by  the  builder, 
and  a  third  to  be  chosen  by  them.  Having  been 
approved  by  these  judges,  and  also  by  the  State- 
Commissioner  of  Wiirtemberg,  according  to  the 
State  ordinance,  the  result  of  the  trial  was 
transmitted  to  the  President  and  Directors  of 
the  Music-Hall  Association,  and  the  organ  was 
accepted. 


896  THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT. 

The  war  broke  out  in  the  mean  time,  and 
there  were  fears  lest  the  vessel  in  which  the 
instrument  might  be  shipped  should  fall  a 
victim  to  some  of  the  British  corsairs  sailing 
under  Confederate  colors.  But  the  Dutch  brig 
"Presto,"  though  slow,  was  safe  from  the  li 
censed  pirates,  unless  an  organ  could  be  shown 
to  be  contraband  of  war.  She  was  out  so  long, 
however,  —  nearly  three  months  from  Rotter 
dam, —  that  the  insurance -office  presidents 
shook  their  heads  over  her,  fearing  that  she 
had  gone  down  with  all  her  precious  freight. 

"  At  length,"  to  borrow  Dr.  Upham's  words, 
"one  stormy  Sunday  in  March  she  was  tele 
graphed  from  the  marine  station  down  in  the 
bay,  and  the  next  morning,  among  the  marine 
intelligence,  in  the  smallest  possible  type,  might 
be  read  the  invoice  of  her  cargo  thus :  — 

Sunday  Mar.  22 


i  DIWUI  j  a  upnam  zu  pipes  <j  casks  gin  J  D  Richa 
Schumaker  20  do  gin  500  bags  chickory  root  order,'  etc.,  etc. 


And  this  was  the  heralding  of  this  greatest 
marvel  of  a  high  and  noble  art,  after  the  labor 
of  seven  years  bestowed  upon  it,  having  been 


THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT.          397 

tried  and  pronounced  complete  by  the  most  fas 
tidious  and  competent  of  critics,  the  wonder  and 
admiration  of  music-loving  Germany,  the  pride 
of  Wiirtemberg,  bringing  a  new  phase  of  civil 
ization  to  our  shores  in  the  darkest  hour  of  our 
country's  trouble." 

It  remains  to  give  a  brief  history  of  the  con 
struction  of  the  grand  and  imposing  architectural 
frame  which  we  have  already  attempted  to  de 
scribe.  Many  organ-fronts  were  examined  with 
reference  to  their  effects,  during  Dr.  Upham's 
visits,  of  which  we  have  traced  the  course,  and 
photographs  and  sketches  obtained  for  the  same 
purpose.  On  returning,  the  task  of  procuring 
a  fitting  plan  was  immediately  undertaken.  We 
need  not  detail  the  long  series  of  trials  which 
were  necessary  before  the  requirements  of  the 
President  and  Directors  of  the  Music-Hall  Asso 
ciation  were  fully  satisfied.  As  the  result  of 
these,  it  was  decided  that  the  work  should  be 
committed  to  the  brothers  Herter,  of  New  York, 
European  artists,  educated  at  the  Royal  Acad 
emy  of  Art  in  Stuttgart.  The  general  outline 


398          THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT. 

of  the  facade  followed  a  design  made  by  Mr. 
Hammatt  Billings,  to  whom  also  are  due  the 
drawings  from  which  the  Saint  Cecilia  and 
the  two  groups  of  cherubs  upon  the  round  towers 
were  modelled.  These  figures  were  executed  at 
Stuttgart ;  the  other  carvings  were  all  done  in 
New  York,  under  Mr.  Herter's  direction,  by 
Italian  and  German  artists,  one  of  whom  had 
trained  his  powers  particularly  to  the  shaping  of 
colossal  figures.  In  the  course  of  the  work,  one 
of  the  brothers  Herter  visited  Ludwigsburg  for 
the  special  purpose  of  comparing  his  plans  with 
the  structure  to  which  they  were  to  be  adapted, 
and  was  received  with  enthusiasm,  the  design 
for  the  front  being  greatly  admired. 

The  contract  was  made  with  Mr.  Herter  in 
April,  1860,  and  the  work,  having  been  ac 
cepted,  was  sent  to  Boston  during  the  last  winter, 
and  safely  stored  in  the  lecture-room  beneath 
the  Music  Hall.  In  March  the  Great  Work 
arrived  from  Germany,  and  was  stored  in  the 
hall  above. 

"  The  seven  years'  task  is  done,  —  the  danger 


THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT.          399 

from  flood  and  fire  so  far  escaped,  —  the  gantlet 
of  the  pirates  safely  run,  —  the  perils  of  the  sea 
and  the  rail  surmounted  by  the  good  Providence 
of  God." 

The  devout  gratitude  of  the  President  of  the 
Association,  under  whose  auspices  this  great  un 
dertaking  has  been  successfully  carried  through, 
will  be  shared  by  all  lovers  of  Art  and  all  the 
friends  of  American  civilization  and  culture. 
We  cannot  naturalize  the  Old  World  cathedrals, 
for  they  were  the  architectural  embodiment  of  a 
form  of  worship  belonging  to  other  ages  and 
differently  educated  races.  But  the  organ  was 
only  lent  to  human  priesthoods  for  their  masses 
and  requiems ;  it  belongs  to  Art,  a  religion  of 
which  God  himself  appoints  the  high-priests. 
At  first  it  appears  almost  a  violence  to  transplant 
it  from  those  awful  sanctuaries,  out  of  whose 
arches  its  forms  seemed  to  grow,  and  whose 
echoes  seemed  to  hold  converse  with  it,  into  our 
gay  and  gilded  halls,  to  utter  its  majestic  voice 
before  the  promiscuous  multitude.  Our  hasty 
impression  is  a  wrong  one.  We  have  under 
taken,  for  the  first  time  in  the  world's  history, 


400  THE   GREAT  INSTRUMENT. 

to  educate  a  nation.  To  teach  a  people  to 
know  the  Creator  in  His  glorious  manifestations 
through  the  wondrous  living  organs  is  a  task  for 
which  no  implement  of  human  fabrication  is  too 
sacred  ;  for  all  true  culture  is  a  form  of  worship, 
and  to  every  rightly  ordered  mind  a  setting  forth 
of  the  Divine  glory. 

This  consummate  work  of  science  and  skill 
reaches  us  in  the  midst  of  the  discordant  sounds 
of  war,  the  prelude  of  that  blessed  harmony 
which  will  come  whenever  the  jarring  organ  of 
the  State  has  learned  once  more  to  obey  its 
keys. 

God  grant  that  the  Miserere  of  a  people  in 
its  anguish  may  soon  be  followed  by  the  Te 
Deum  of  a  redeemed  nation  ! 


THE    INEVITABLE    TRIAL.* 


IT  is  our  first  impulse,  upon  this  returning 
day  of  our  nation's  birth,  to  recall  what 
ever  is  happiest  and  noblest  in  our  past  history, 
and  to  join  our  voices  in  celebrating  the  states 
men  and  the  heroes,  the  men  of  thought  and  the 
men  of  action,  to  whom  that  history  owes  its 
existence.  In  other  years  this  pleasing  office 
may  have  been  all  that  was  required  of  the  holi 
day  speaker.  But  to-day,  when  the  very  life  of 
the  nation  is  threatened,  when  clouds  are  thick 
about  us,  and  men's  hearts  are  throbbing  with 
passion,  or  failing  with  fear,  it  is  the  living  ques 
tion  of  the  hour,  and  not  the  dead  story  of  the 
past,  which  forces  itself  into  all  minds,  and  will 
find  unrebuked  debate  in  all  assemblies. 

*  An  Oration  delivered  before  the  City  Authorities  of  Boston, 
on  the  4th  of  July,  1863. 


402  THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL. 

In  periods  of  disturbance  like  the  present, 
many  persons  who  sincerely  love  their  country 
and  mean  to  do  their  duty  to  her  disappoint  the 
hopes  and  expectations  of  those  who  are  actively 
working  in  her  cause.  They  seem  to  have  lost 
whatever  moral  force  they  may  have  once  pos 
sessed,  and  to  go  drifting  about  from  one  profit 
less  discontent  to  another,  at  a  time  when  every 
citizen  is  called  upon  for  cheerful,  ready  service. 
It  is  because  their  minds  are  bewildered,  and 
they  are  no  longer  truly  themselves.  Show 
them  the  path  of  duty,  inspire  them  with  hope 
for  the  future,  lead  them  upwards  from  the  tur 
bid  stream  of  events  to  the  bright,  translucent 
springs  of  eternal  principles,  strengthen  their 
trust  in  humanity  and  their  faith  in  God,  and 
you  may  yet  restore  them  to  their  manhood  and 
their  country. 

At  all  times,  and  especially  on  this  anniver 
sary  of  glorious  recollections  and  kindly  enthu 
siasms,  we  should  try  to  judge  the  weak  and 
wavering  souls  of  our  brothers  fairly  and  gener 
ously.  The  conditions  in  which  our  vast  com 
munity  of  peace-loving  citizens  find  themselves 


THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL.  4Q3 

are  new  and  unprovided  for.  Our  quiet  burgh 
ers  and  farmers  are  in  the  position  of  river-boats 
blown  from  their  moorings  out  upon  a  vast  ocean, 
where  such  a  typhoon  is  raging  as  no  mariner 
who  sails  its  waters  ever  before  looked  upon. 
If  their  beliefs  change  with  the  veering  of  the 
blast,  if  their  trust  in  their  fellow-men,  and  in 
the  course  of  Divine  Providence,  seems  well- 
nigh  shipwrecked,  we  must  remember  that  they 
were  taken  unawares,  and  without  the  prepara 
tion  which  could  fit  them  to  struggle  with  these 
tempestuous  elements.  In  times  like  these  the 
faith  is  the  man  ;  and  they  to  whom  it  is  given 
in  larger  measure  owe  a  special  duty  to  those 
who  for  want  of  it  are  faint  at  heart,  uncertain 
in  speech,  feeble  in  effort,  and  purposeless  in 
aim.  * 

Assuming  without  argument  a  few  simple 
propositions,  —  that  self-government  is  the  natu 
ral  condition  of  an  adult  society,  as  distinguished 
from  the  immature  state,  in  which  the  temporary 
arrangements  of  monarchy  and  oligarchy  are 
tolerated  as  conveniences  ;  that  the  end  of  all 
social  compacts  is,  or  ought  to  be,  to  give  every 


404  THE  INEVITABLE    TRIAL. 

child  born  into  the  world  the  fairest  chance  to 
make  the  most  and  the  best  of  itself  that  laws 
can  give  it ;  that  Liberty,  the  one  of  the  two 
claimants  who  swears  that  her  babe  shall  not  be 
split  in  halves  and  divided  between  them,  is  the 
true  mother  of  this  blessed  Union ;  that  the 
contest  in  which  we  are  engaged  is  one  of  prin 
ciples  overlaid  by  circumstances  ;  that  the  longer 
we  fight,  and  the  more  we  study  the  movements 
of  events  and  ideas,  the  more  clearly  we  find 
the  moral  nature  of  the  cause  at  issue  emerging 
in  the  field  and  in  the  study  ;  that  all  honest 
persons  with  average  natural  sensibility,  with  re 
spectable  understanding,  educated  in  the  school 
of  northern  teaching,  will  have  eventually  to 
range  themselves  in  the  armed  or  unarmed  host 
which  fcfights  or  pleads  for  freedom,  as  against 
every  form  of  tyranny  ;  if  not  in  the  front  rank 
now,  then  in  the  rear  rank  by  and  by ;  —  assum 
ing  these  propositions,  as  many,  perhaps  most  of 
us,  are  ready  to  do,  and  believing  that  the  more 
they  are  debated  before  the  public  the  more  they 
will  gain  converts,  we  owe  it  to  the  timid  and  the 
doubting  to  keep  the  great  questions  of  the  time 


THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL.  405 

in  unceasing  and  untiring  agitation.  They  must 
be  discussed,  in  all  ways  consistent  with  the  pub 
lic  welfare,  by  different  classes  of  thinkers  ;  by 
priests  and  laymen  ;  by  statesmen  and  simple 
voters  ;  by  moralists  and  lawyers  ;  by  men  of 
science  and  uneducated  hand-laborers  ;  by  men 
of  facts  and  figures,  and  by  men  of  theories  and 
aspirations  ;  in  the  abstract  and  in  the  concrete  ; 
discussed  and  rediscussed  every  month,  every 
week,  every  day,  and  almost  every  hour,  as 
the  telegraph  tells  us  of  some  new  upheaval  or 
subsidence  of  the  rocky  base  of  our  political 
order. 

Such  discussions  may  not  be  necessary  to 
strengthen  the  convictions  of  the  great  body  of 
loyal  citizens.  They  may  do  nothing  toward 
changing  the  views  of  those,  if  such  there  be, 
as  some  profess  to  believe,  who  follow  politics  as 
a  trade.  They  may  have  no  hold  upon  that 
class  of  persons  who  are  defective  in  moral  sen 
sibility,  just  as  other  persons  are  wanting  in  an 
ear  for  music.  But  for  the  honest,  vacillating 
minds,  the  tender  consciences  supported  by  the 
tremulous  knees  of  an  infirm  intelligence,  the 


406  THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL. 

timid  compromisers  who  are  always  trying  to 
curve  the  straight  lines  and  round  the  sharp 
angles  of  eternal  law,  the  continual  debate  of 
these  living  questions  is  the  one  offered  means 
of  grace  and  hope  of  earthly  redemption.  And 
thus  a  true,  unhesitating  patriot  may  be  willing 
to  listen  with  patience  to  arguments  which  he 
does  not  need,  to  appeals  which  have  no  special 
significance  for  him,  in  the  hope  that  some  less 
clear  in  mind  or  less  courageous  in  temper  may 
profit  by  them. 

As  we  look  at  the  condition  in  which  we  find 
ourselves  on  this  fourth  day  of  July,  1863,  at 
the  beginning  of  the  Eighty-eighth  Year  of 
American  Independence,  we  may  well  ask  our 
selves  what  right  we  have  to  indulge  in  public 
rejoicings.  If  the  war  in  which  we  are  engaged 
is  an  accidental  one,  which  might  have  been 
avoided  but  for  our  fault ;  if  it  is  for  any  ambi 
tious  or  unworthy  purpose  on  our  part ;  if  it  is 
hopeless,  and  we  are  madly  persisting  in  it ;  if 
it  is  our  duty  and  in  our  power  to  make  a  safe 
and  honorable  peace,  and  we  refuse  to  do  it ;  if 


THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL.  407 

our  free  institutions  are  in  danger  of  becoming 
subverted,  and  giving  place  to  an  irresponsible 
tyranny  ;  if  we  are  moving  in  the  narrow  cir 
cles  which  are  to  ingulf  us  in  national  ruin,  — 
then  we  had  better  sing  a  dirge,  and  leave  this 
idle  assemblage,  and  hush  the  noisy  cannon 
which  are  reverberating  through  the  air,  and 
tear  down  the  scaffolds  which  are  soon  to  blaze 
•  with  fiery  symbols  ;  for  it  is  mourning  and  not 
joy  that  should  cover  the  land  ;  there  should  be 
silence,  and  not  the  echo  of  noisy  gladness,  in 
our  streets  ;  and  the  emblems  with  which  we 
tell  our  nation's  story  and  prefigure  its  future 
should  be  traced,  not  in  fire,  but  in  ashes. 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  this  war  is  no  acci 
dent,  but  an  inevitable  result  of  long-incubating 
causes  ;  inevitable  as  the  cataclysms  that  swept 
away  the  monstrous  births  of  primeval  nature  ; 
if  it  is  for  no  mean,  unworthy  end,  but  for  na 
tional  life,  for  liberty  everywhere,  for  humanity, 
for  the  kingdom  of  God  on  earth  ;  if  it  is  not 
hopeless,  but  only  growing  to  such  dimensions 
that  the  world  shall  remember  the  final  triumph 
of  right  throughout  all  time  ;  if  there  is  no  safe 


408  THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL. 

and  honorable  peace  for  us  but  a  peace  pro 
claimed  from  the  capital  of  every  revolted  pro 
vince  in  the  name  of  the  sacred,  inviolable 
Union  ;  if  the  fear  of  tyranny  is  a  phantasm, 
conjured  up  by  the  imagination  of  the  weak, 
acted  on  by  the  craft  of  the  cunning  ;  if  so  far 
from  circling  inward  to  the  gulf  of  our  perdition, 
the  movement  of  past  years  is  reversed,  and 
every  revolution  carries  us  farther  and  farther 
from  the  centre  of  the  vortex,  until,  bv  God's 
blessing,  we  shall  soon  find  ourselves  freed  from 
the  outermost  coil  of  the  accursed  spiral ;  if  all 
these  things  are  true ;  if  we  may  hope  to  make 
them  seem  true,  or  even  probable,  to  the  doubt 
ing  soul,  in  an  hour's  discourse,  —  then  we  may 
join  without  madness  in  the  day's  exultant  fes 
tivities  ;  the  bells  may  ring,  the  cannon  may 
roar,  the  incense  of  our  harmless  saltpetre  fill 
the  air,  and  the  children  who  are  to  inherit  the 
fruit  of  these  toiling,  agonizing  years,  go  about 
unblamed,  making  day  and  night  vocal  with 
their  jubilant  patriotism. 

The  struggle  in  which  we  are  engaged  was 


THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL.  409 

inevitable  ;  it  might  have  come  a  little  sooner, 
or  a  little  later,  but  k  must  have  come.  The 
disease  of  the  nation  was  organic,  and  not  func 
tional,  and  the  rough  chirurgery  of  war  was  its 
only  remedy. 

In  opposition  to  this  view,  there  are  many 
languid  thinkers  who  lapse  into  a  forlorn  belief 
that  if  this  or  that  man  had  never  lived,  or  if 
this  or  that  other  man  had  not  ceased  to  live, 
the  country  might  have  gone  on  in  peace  and 
prosperity,  until  its  felicity  merged  in  the  glories 
of  the  millennium.  If  Mr.  Calhoun  had  never 
proclaimed  his  heresies  ;  if  Mr.  Garrison  had 
never  published  his  paper  ;  if  Mr.  Phillips,  the 
Cassandra  in  masculine  shape  of  our  long  pros 
perous  Ilium,  had  never  uttered  his  melodious 
prophecies  ;  if  the  silver  tones  of  Mr.  Clay  had 
still  sounded  in  the  senate-chamber  to  smooth 
the  billows  of  contention  ;  if  the  Olympian  brow 
of  Daniel  Webster  had  been  lifted  from  the  dust 
to  fix  its  awful  frown  on  the  darkening  scowl  of 
rebellion,  —  we  might  have  been  spared  this 
dread  season  of  convulsion.  All  this  is  but 
simple  Martha's  faith,  without  the  reason  she 

18 


410  THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL. 

could  have  given :    "If  Thou  hadst  been  here, 
my  brother  had  not  died." 

They  little  know  the  tidal  movements  of  na 
tional  thought  and  feeling,  who  believe  that  they 
depend  for  existence  on  a  few  swimmers  who 
ride  their  waves.  It  is  not  Leviathan  that  leads 
the  ocean  from  continent  to  continent,  but  the 
ocean  which  bears  his  mighty  bulk  as  it  wafts 
its  own  bubbles.  If  this  is  true  of  all  the  nar 
rower  manifestations  of  human  progress,  how 
much  more  must  it  be  true  of  those  broad  move 
ments  in  the  intellectual  and  spiritual  domain 
which  interest  all  mankind  ?  But  in  the  more 
limited  ranges  referred  to,  no  fact  is  more  famil 
iar  than  that  there  is  a  simultaneous  impulse 
acting  on  many  individual  minds  at  once,  so  that 
genius  comes  in  clusters,  and  shines  rarely  as  a 
single  star.  You  may  trace  a  common  motive 
and  force  in  the  pyramid-builders  of  the  earliest 
recorded  antiquity,  in  the  evolution  of  Greek 
architecture,  and  in  the  sudden  springing  up  of 
those  wondrous  cathedrals  of  the  twelfth  and 
following  centuries,  growing  out  of  the  soil  with 
stem  and  bud  and  blossom,  like  flowers  of  stone 


THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL.  4U 

whose  seeds  might  well  have  been  the  flaming 
aerolites  cast  over  the  battlements  of  heaven. 
You  may  see  the  same  law  showing  itself  in  the 
brief  periods  of  glory  which  make  the  names  of 
Pericles  and  Augustus  illustrious  with  reflected 
splendors ;  in  the  painters,  the  sculptors,  the 
scholars  of  "  Leo's  golden  days"  ;  in  the  authors 
of  the  Elizabethan  time ;  in  the  poets  of  the 
first  part  of  this  century  following  that  dreary 
period,  suffering  alike  from  the  silence  of  Cow- 
per  and  the  song  of  Hayley.  You  may  accept 
the  fact  as  natural,  that  Zwingli  and  Luther, 
without  knowing  each  other,  preached  the  same 
reformed  gospel ;  that  Newton,  and  Hooke,  and 
Ilalley,  and  Wren  arrived  independently  of  each 
other  at  the  great  law  of  the  diminution  of  grav 
ity  with  the  square  of  the  distance  ;  that  Lever- 
rier  and  Adams  felt  their  hands  meeting,  .as  it 
were,  as  they  stretched  them  into  tire  outer 
darkness  beyond  the  orbit  of  Uranus,  in  search 
of  the  dim,  unseen  planet ;  that  Fulton  and 
Bell,  that  Wheats  tone  and  Morse,  that  Daguerre 
and  Niepce,  were  moving  almost  simultaneous 
ly  in  parallel  paths  to  the  same  end.  You  see 


412  THE  INEVITABLE    TRIAL. 

why  Patrick  Henry,  in  Richmond,  and  Samuel 
Adams,  in  Boston,  were  startling  the  crown  offi 
cials  with  the  same  accents  of  liberty,  and  why 
the  Mecklenburg  Resolutions  had  the  very  ring 

of  the  Protest  of  the  Province  of  Massachusetts. 

• 

This  law  of  simultaneous  intellectual  movement, 
recognized  by  all  thinkers,  expatiated  upon  by 
Lord  Macaulay  and  by  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer 
among  recent  writers,  is  eminently  applicable 
to  that  change  of  thought  and  feeling,  which 
necessarily  led  to  the  present  conflict. 

The  antagonism  of  the  two  sections  of  the 
Union  was  not  the  work  of  this  or  that  enthu 
siast  or  fanatic.  It  was  the  consequence  of  a 
movement  in  mass  of  two  different  forms  of  civ 
ilization  in  different  directions,  and  the  men  to 
whom  it  was  attributed  were  only  those  who 
represented  it  most  completely,  or  who  talked 
longest  and  loudest  about  it.  Long  before  the 
accents  of  those  famous  statesmen  referred  to 
ever  resounded  in  the  halls  of  the  Capitol,  long 
before  the  "Liberator"  opened  its  batteries,  the 
controversy  now  working  itself  out  by  trial  of 
battle,  was  foreseen  and  predicted.  Washington 


THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL.  413 

warned  his  countrymen  of  the  danger  of  sec 
tional  divisions,  well  knowing  the  line  of  cleav 
age  that  ran  through  the  seemingly  solid  fabric. 
Jefferson  foreshadowed  the  judgment  to  fall  upon 
the  land  for  its  sins  against  a  just  God.  An 
drew  Jackson  announced  a  quarter  of  a  century 
beforehand  that  the  next  pretext  of  revolution 
would  be  slavery.  De  Tocqueville  recognized 
with  that  penetrating  insight  which  analyzed  our 
institutions  and  conditions  so  keenly,  that  the 
Union  was  to  be  endangered  by  slavery,  not 
through  its  interests,  but  through  the  change  of 
character  it  was  bringing  about  in  the  people 
of  the  two  sections,  the  same  fatal  change  which 
George  Mason,  more  than  half  a  century  before, 
had  declared  to  be  the  most  pernicious  effect 
of  the  system,  adding  the  solemn  warning,  now 
fearfully  justifying  itself  in  the  sight  of  his  de 
scendants,  that  "  by  an  inevitable  chain  of  causes 
and  effects,  Providence  punishes  national  sins  by 
national  calamities."  The  Virginian  romancer 
pictured  the  far-off  scenes  of  the  conflict  which 
he  saw  approaching,  as  the  prophets  of  Israel 
painted  the  coming  woes  of  Jerusalem,  and  the 


414  THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL. 

strong  iconoclast  of  Boston  announced  the  very 
year  when  the  curtain  should  rise  on  the  yet 
unopened  drama. 

The  wise  men  of  the  past,  and  the  shrewd 
men  of  our  own  time,  who  warned  us  of  the 
calamities  in  store  for  our  nation,  never  doubted 
what  was  the  cause  which  was  to  produce  first 
alienation  and  finally  rupture.  The  descendants 
of  the  men  "  daily  exercised  in  tyranny,"  the 
"  petty  tyrants,"  as  their  own  leading  statesmen 
called  them  long  ago,  came  at  length  to  love  the 
institution  which  their  fathers  had  condemned 
while  they  tolerated.  It  is  the  fearful  realiza 
tion  of  that  vision  of  the  poet  where  the  lost 
angels  snuff  up  with  eager  nostrils  the  sulphur 
ous  emanations  of  the  bottomless  abyss,  —  so 
have  their  natures  become  changed  by  long 
breathing  the  atmosphere  of  the  realm  of  dark 
ness. 

At  last,  in  the  fulness  of  time,  the  fruits  of  sin 
ripened  in  a  sudden  harvest  of  crime.  Vio 
lence  stalked  into  the  senate-chamber,  theft 
and  perjury  wound  their  way  into  the  cabinet, 
and,  finally,  openly  organized  conspiracy,  with 


THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL.  415 

force  and  arms,  made  burglarious  entrance  into 
a  chief  stronghold  of  the  Union.  That  the 
principle  which  underlay  these  acts  of  fraud  and 
violence  should  be  irrevocably  recorded  with 
every  needed  sanction,  it  pleased  God  to  select 
a  chief  ruler  of  the  false  government  to  be  its 
Messiah  to  the  listening  world.  As  with  Pharaoh, 
the  Lord  hardened  his  lieart,  while  he  opened 
his  mouth,  as  of  old  he  opened  that  of  the  un 
wise  animal  ridden  by  cursing  Balaam.  Then 
spake  Mr.  "  Vice-President "  Stephens  those 
memorable  words  which  fixed  forever  the  theory 
of  the  new  social  order.  He  first  lifted  a  de 
graded  barbarism  to  the  dignity  of  a  philosophic 
system.  He  first  proclaimed  the  gospel  of  eter 
nal  tyranny  as  the  new  revelation  which  Provi 
dence  had  reserved  for  the  western  Palestine. 
Hear,  O  heavens  !  and  give  ear,  0  earth  !  The 
corner-stone  of  the  new-born  dispensation  is 
the  recognized  inequality  of  races  ;  not  that  the 
strong  may  protect  the  weak,  as  men  protect 
women  and  children,  but  that  the  strong  may 
claim  the  authority  of  Nature  and  of  God  to 
buy,  to  sell,  to  scourge,  to  hunt,  to  cheat  out  of 


416  THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL. 

the  reward  of  his  labor,  to  keep  in  perpetual  ig 
norance,  to  blast  with  hereditary  curses  through 
out  all  time,  the  bronzed  foundling  of  the  New 
"World,  upon  whose  darkness  has  dawned  the 
star  of  the  occidental  Bethlehem  ! 

After  two  years  of  war  have  consolidated 
the  opinion  of  the  Slave  States,  we  read  in  the 
"  Richmond  Examiner  "  :  "  The  establishment 
of  the  Confederacy  is  verily  a  distinct  reaction 
against  the  whole  course  of  the  mistaken  civiliza 
tion  of  the  age.  For  '  Liberty,  Equality,  Fra 
ternity,'  we  have  deliberately  substituted  Slavery, 
Subordination,  and  Government." 

A  simple  diagram,  within  the  reach  of  all, 
shows  how  idle  it  is  to  look  for  any  other  cause 
than  slavery  as  having  any  material  agency  in 
dividing  the  country.  Match  the  two  broken 
pieces  of  the  Union,  and  you  will  find  the  fissure 
that  separates  them  zigzagging  itself  half  across 
the  continent  like  an  isothermal  line,  shooting  its 
splintery  projections,  and  opening  its  re-entering 
angles,  not  merely  according  to  the  limitations 
of  particular  States,  but  as  a  county  or  other 
limited  section  of  ground  belongs  to  freedom  or 


THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL.  417 

to  slavery.  Add  to  this  the  official  statement 
made  in  1862,  that  "  there  is  not  one  regiment 
or  battalion,  or  even  company  of  men,  which  was 
organized  in  or  derived  from  the  Free  States 
or  Territories,  anywhere,  against  the  Union  "; 
throw  in  gratuitously  Mr.  Stephens's  explicit 
declaration  in  the  speech  referred  to,  and  we 
will  consider  the  evidence  closed  for  the  present 
on  this  count  of  the  indictment. 

In  the  face  of  these  predictions,  these  declara 
tions,  this  line  of  fracture,  this  precise  statement, 
testimony  from  so  many  sources,  extending 
through  several  generations,  as  to  the  necessary 
effect  of  slavery,  a  priori,  and  its  actual  influence 
as  shown  by  the  facts,  few  will  suppose  that 
anything  we  could  have  done  would  have  stayed 
its  course  or  prevented  it  from  working  out  its 
legitimate  effects  on  the  white  subjects  of  its 
corrupting  dominion.  Northern  acquiescence 
or  even  sympathy  may  have  sometimes  helped 
to  make  it  sit  more  easily  on  the  consciences  of 
its  supporters!  Many  profess  to  think  that 
Northern  fanaticism,  as  they  call  it,  acted  like  a 
mordant  in  fixing  the  black  dye  of  slavery  in 
18*  AA 


418  THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL. 

regions  which  would  but  for  that  have  washed 

o 

themselves  free  of  its  stain  in  tears  of  penitence. 
It  is  a  delusion  and  a  snare  to  trust  in  any  such 
false  and  flimsy  reasons  where  there  is  enough 
and  more  than  enough  in  the  institution  itself 

O 

to  account  for  its  growth.  Slavery  gratifies  at 
once  the  love  of  power,  the  love  of  money,  and 
the  love  of  ease  ;  it  finds  a  victim  for  anger  who 
cannot  smite  back  his  oppressor;  and  it  offers 
to  all,  without  measure,  the  seductive  privileges 
which  the  Mormon  gospel  reserves  for  the  true 
believers  on  earth,  and  the  Bible  of  Mahomet 
only  dares  promise  to  the  saints  in  heaven. 

Still  it  is  common,  common  even  to  vulgarism, 
to  hear  the  remark  that  the  same  gallows-tree 
ought  to  bear  as  its  fruit  the  arch-traitor  and  the 
leading  champion  of  aggressive  liberty.  The 
mob  of  Jerusalem  was  not  satisfied  with  its  two 
crucified  thieves  ;  it  must  have  a  cross  also  for 
the  reforming  Galilean,  who  interfered  so  rudely 
with  its  conservative  traditions  !  It  is  asserted 
that  the  fault  was  quite  as  much  on  our  side  as 
on  the  other  ;  that  our  agitators  and  abolishers 
kindled  the  flame  for  which  the  combustibles 


THE   INEVITABLE   TRIAL.  419 

were  all  ready  on  the  other  side  of  the  border. 
If  these  men  could  have  been  silenced,  our 
brothers  had  not  died. 

Who  are  the  persons  that  use  this  argument  ? 
They  are  the  very  ones  who  are  at  the  present 
moment  most  zealous  in  maintaining  the  right  of 
free  discussion.  At  a  time  when  every  power 
the  nation  can  summon  is  needed  to  ward  off 
the  blows  aimed  at  its  life,  and  turn  their  force 
upon  its  foes,  —  when  a  false  traitor  at  home 
may  lose  us  a  battle  by  a  word,  and  a  lying 
newspaper  may  demoralize  an  army  by  its  daily 
or  weekly  stillicidium  of  poison,  they  insist  with 
loud  acclaim  upon  the  liberty  of  speech  and  of 
the  press  ;  liberty,  nay  license,  to  deal  with 
government,  with  leaders,  with  every  measure, 
however  urgent,  in  any  terms  they  choose,  to 
traduce  the  officer  before  his  own  soldiers,  and 
assail  the  only  men  who  have  any  claim  at  all  to 
rule  over  the  country,  as  the  very  ones  who  are 
least  worthy  to  be  obeyed.  If  these  opposition 
members  of  society  are  to  have  their  way  now, 
they  cannot  find  fault  with  those  persons  who 
spoke  their  minds  freely  in  the  past  on  that 


420  THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL. 

great  question  which,  as  we  have  agreed,  under 
lies  all  our  present  dissensions. 

It  is  easy  to  understand  the  bitterness  which 
is  often  shown  towards  reformers.  They  are 
never  general  favorites.  They  are  apt  to  inter 
fere  with  vested  rights  and  time-hallowed  inter 
ests.  They  often  wear  an  unlovely,  forbidding 
aspect.  Their  office  corresponds  to  that  of 
Nature's  sanitary  commission  for  the  removal 
of  material  nuisances.  It  is  not  the  butterfly, 
but  the  beetle,  which  she  employs  for  this  duty. 
It  is  not  the  bird  of  paradise  and  the  nightingale, 
but  the  fowl  of  dark  plumage  and  unmelodious 
voice,  to  which  is  intrusted  the  sacred  duty  of 
eliminating  the  substances  that  infect  the  air. 
And  the  force  of  obvious  analogy  teaches  us  not 
to  expect  all  the  qualities  which  please  the  gen 
eral  taste  in  those  whose  instincts  lead  them  to 
attack  the  moral  nuisances  which  poison  the 
atmosphere  of  society.  But  whether  they  please 
us  in  all  their  aspects  or  not,  is  not  the  question. 
Like  them  or  not,  they  must  and  will  perform 
their  office,  and  we  cannot  stop  them.  They 
may  be  unwise,  violent,  abusive,  extravagant, 


THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL.  421 

impracticable,  but  they  are  alive,  at  any  rate, 
and  it  is  their  business  to  remove  abuses  as  soon 
as  they  are  dead,  and  often  to  help  them  to  die. 
To  quarrel  with  them  because  they  are  beetles, 
and    not   butterflies,    is   natural,   but   far   from 
profitable.    They  grow  none  the  worse  for  being 
trodden  upon,  like  those  tough  weeds  that  love 
to  nestle  between  the  stones  of  court-yard  pave 
ments.     If  you  strike  at  one  of  their  heads  with 
the  bludgeon  of  the  law,  or  of  violence,  it  flies 
open  like  the  seed-capsule  of  a  snap-weed,  and 
fills   the   whole    region   with    seminal    thoughts 
which  will  spring  up  in  a  crop  just  like  the 
original  martyr.     They  chased  one  of  these  en 
thusiasts,  who  attacked  slavery,  from  St.  Louis, 
and  shot  him  at  Alton  in  1837  ;  and  on  the  23d 
of  June  just  passed,  the  Governor  of  Missouri, 
Chairman  of  the  Committee  on  Emancipation, 
introduced  to  the  Convention  an  Ordinance  for 
the  final  extinction  of  slavery  !      They  hunted 
another  through  the  streets  of  a  great  Northern 
city  in  1835  ;  and  within  a  few  weeks  a  regiment 
of  colored  soldiers,  many  of  them  bearing  the 
marks  of  the  slave-driver's  whip  on  their  backs, 


422  THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL. 

marched  out  before  a  vast  multitude  tremulous 
with  newly-stirred  sympathies,  through  the 
streets  of  the  same  city,  to  fight  our  battles  in 
the  name  of  God  and  Liberty  ! 

The  same  persons  who  abuse  the  reformers, 
and  lay  all  our  troubles  at  their  door,  are  apt  to 
be  severe  also  on  what  they  contemptuously 
emphasize  as  "sentiments"  considered  as  mo 
tives  of  action.  It  is  charitable  to  believe  that 
they  do  not  seriously  contemplate  or  truly  un 
derstand  the  meaning  of  the  words  they  use, 
but  rather  play  with  them,  as  certain  so-called 
"  learned "  quadrupeds  play  with  the  printed 
characters  set  before  them.  In  all  questions 
involving  duty,  we  act  from  sentiments.  Re 
ligion  springs  from  them,  the  family  order  rests 
upon  them,  and  in  every  community  each  act 
involving  a  relation  between  any  two  of  its 
members  implies  the  recognition  or  the  denial 
of  a  sentiment.  It  is  true  that  men  often  forget 
them  or  act  against  their  bidding  in  the  keen 
competition  of  business  and  politics.  But  God 
has  not  left  the  hard  intellect  of  man  to  work 
out  its  devices  without  the  constant  presence  of 


THE   INEVITABLE   TRIAL.  423 

beings  with  gentler  and  purer  instincts.  The 
breast  of  woman  is  the  ever-rocking  cradle  of 
the  pure  and  holy  sentiments  which  will  sooner 
or  later  steal  their  way  into  the  mind  of  her 
sterner  companion  ;  which  will  by  and  by  emerge 
in  the  thoughts  of  the  world's  teachers,  and 
at  last  thunder  forth  in  the  edicts  of  its  law 
givers  and  masters.  Woman  herself  borrows 
half  her  tenderness  from  the  sweet  influences  of 
maternity ;  and  childhood,  that  weeps  at  the 
story  of  suffering,  that  shudders  at  the  picture 
of  wrong,  brings  down  its  inspiration  "  from 
God,  who  is  our  home."  To  quarrel,  then, 
with  the  class  of  minds  that  instinctively  attack 
abuses,  is  not  only  profitless  but  senseless  ;  to 
sneer  at  the  sentiments  which  are  the  springs 
of  all  just  and  virtuous  actions,  is  merely  a  dis 
play  of  unthinking  levity,  or  of  want  of  the 
natural  sensibilities. 

With  the  hereditary  character  of  the  Southern 
people  moving  in  one  direction,  and  the  awak 
ened  conscience  of  the  North  stirring  in  the 
other,  the  open  conflict  of  opinion  was  inevitable, 
and  equally  inevitable  its  appearance  in  the  field 


424  THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL. 

of  national  politics.  For  what  is  meant  by 
self-government  is,  that  a  man  shall  make  his 
convictions  of  what  is  right  and  expedient  regu 
late  the  community  so  far  as  his  fractional  share 
of  the  government  extends.  If  one  has  come  to 
the  conclusion,  be  it  right  or  wrong,  that  any 
particular  institution  or  statute  is  a  violation  of 
the  sovereign  law  of  God,  it  is  to  be  expected 
that  he  will  choose  to  be  represented  by  those 
who  share  his  belief,  and  who  will  in  their  wider 
sphere  do  all  they  legitimately  can  to  get  rid  of 
the  wrong  in  which  they  find  themselves  and 
their  constituents  involved.  To  prevent  opinion 
from  organizing  itself  under  political  forms  may 
be  very  desirable,  but  it  is  not  according  to  the 
theory  or  practice  of  self-government.  And  if 
at  last  organized  opinions  become  arrayed  in 
hostile  shape  against  each  other,  we  shall  find 
that  a  just  war  is  only  the  last  inevitable  link  in 
a  chain  of  closely  connected  impulses  of  which 
the  original  source  is  in  Him  who  gave  to  tender 
and  humble  and  uncorrupted  souls  the  sense  of 
right  and  wrong,  which,  after  passing  through 
various  forms,  has  found  its  final  expression  in 


THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL.  425 

the  use  of  material  force.  Behind  the  bayonet 
is  the  lawgiver's  statute,  behind  the  statute  the 
thinker's  argument,  behind  the  argument  is  the 
tender  conscientiousness  of  woman,  —  woman, 
the  wife,  the  mother,  —  who  looks  upon  the  face 
of  God  himself  reflected  in  the  unsullied  soul  of 
infancy.  "  Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes  and 
sucklings  hast  thou  ordained  strength,  because  of 
thine  enemies." 

The  simplest  course  for  the  malecontent  is  to 
find  fault  with  the  order  of  Nature  and  the 
Being  who  established  it.  Unless  the  law  of 
moral  progress  were  changed,  or  the  Governor 
of  the  Universe  were  dethroned,  it  would  be 
impossible  to  prevent  a  great  uprising  of  the 
human  conscience  against  a  system,  the  legisla 
tion  relating  to  which,  in  the  words  of  so  calm 
an  observer  as  De  Tocqueville,  the  Montesquieu 
of  our  laws,  presents  "  such  unparalleled  atroci 
ties  as  to  show  that  the  laws  of  humanity  have 
been  totally  perverted."  Until  the  infinite  self 
ishness  of  the  powers  that  hate  and  fear  the 
principles  of  free  government  swallowed  up  their 
convenient  virtues,  that  system  was  hissed  at  by 


426  THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL. 

all  the  old-world  civilization.  While  in  one 
section  of  our  land  the  attempt  has  been  going 
on  to  lift  it  out  of  the  category  of  tolerated 
wrongs  into  the  sphere  of  the  world's  beneficent 
agencies,  it  was  to  be  expected  that  the  protest 
of  Northern  manhood  and  womanhood  would 
grow  louder  and  stronger  until  the  conflict  of 
principles  led  to  the  conflict  of  forces.  The 
moral  uprising  of  the  North  came  with  the  logical 
precision  of  destiny  ;  the  rage  of  the  "  petty 
tyrants "  was  inevitable ;  the  plot  to  erect  a 
slave  empire  followed  with  fated  certainty  ;  and 
the  only  question  left  for  us  of  the  North  was, 
whether  we  should  suffer  the  cause  of  the  Nation 
to  go  by  default,  or  maintain  its  existence  by  the 
argument  of  cannon  and  musket,  of  bayonet  and 
sabre. 

The  war  in  which  we  are  engaged  is  for 
no  meanly  ambitious  or  unworthy  purpose.  It 
was  primarily,  and  is  to  this  moment,  for  the 
preservation  of  our  national  existence.  The 
first  direct  movement  towards  it  was  a  civil 
request  on  the  part  of  certain  Southern  persons, 


THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL.  427 

that  the  Nation  would  commit  suicide,  without 
making  any  unnecessary  trouble  about  it.  It 
was  answered,  with  sentiments  of  the  highest 
consideration,  that  there  were  constitutional  and 
other "  objections  to  the  Nation's  laying  violent 
hands  upon  itself.  It  was  then  requested,  in 
a  somewhat  peremptory  tone,  that  the  Nation 
would  be  so  obliging  as  to  abstain  from  food 
until  the  natural  consequences  of  that  proceed 
ing  should  manifest  themselves.  All  this  was 
done  as  between  a  single  State  and  an  isolated 
fortress  ;  but  it  was  not  South  Carolina  and 
Fort  Sumter  that  were  talking ;  it  was  a  vast 
conspiracy  uttering  its  menace  to  a  mighty  na 
tion  ;  the  whole  menagerie  of  treason  was  pacing 
its  cages,  ready  to  spring  as  soon  as  the  doors 
were  opened  ;  and  all  that  the  tigers  of  rebellion 
wanted  to  kindle  their  wild  natures  to  frenzy, 
was  the  sight  of  flowing  blood. 

As  if  to  show  how  coldly  and  calmly  all  this 
had  been  calculated  beforehand  by  the  conspir 
ators,  to  make  sure  that  no  absence  of  malice 
aforethought  should  degrade  the  grand  malignity 
of  settled  purpose  into  the  trivial  effervescence 


428  THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL. 

of  transient  passion,  the  torch  which  was  liter 
ally  to  launch  the  first  missile,  figuratively,  to 
44  fire  the  southern  heart  "  and  light  the  flame 
of  civil  war,  was  given  into  the  trembling  hand 
of  an  old  white-headed  man,  the  wretcfred  in 
cendiary  whom  history  will  handcuff  in  eternal 
infamy  with  the  temple-burner  of  ancient  Ephe- 
sus.  The  first  gun  that  spat  its  iron  insult  at 
Fort  Sumter,  smote  every  loyal  American  full 
in  the  face.  As  when  the  foul  witch  used  to 
torture  her  miniature  image,  the  person  it  repre 
sented  suffered  all  that  she  inflicted  on  his  waxen 
counterpart,  so  every  buffet  that  fell  on  the 
smoking  fortress  was  felt  by  the  sovereign  nation 
of  which  that  was  the  representative.  Robbery 
could  go  no  farther,  for  every  loyal  man  of  the 
North  was  despoiled  in  that  single  act  as  much 
as  if  a  footpad  had  laid  hands  upon  him  to  take 
from  him  his  father's  staff  and  his  mother's 
Bible.  Insult  could  go  no  farther,  for  over 
those  battered  walls  waved  the  precious  symbol 
of  all  we  most  value  in  the  past  and  most  hope 
for  in  the  future,  —  the  banner  under  which  we 
became  a  nation,  and  which,  next  to  the  cross  of 


THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL.  429 

the  Redeemer,  is  the  dearest  object  of  love  and 
honor  to  all  who  toil  or  march  or  sail  beneath 
its  waving  folds  of  glory. 

Let  us  pause  for  a  moment  to  consider  what 
might  have  been  the  course  of  events  if  under 
the  influence  of  fear,  or  of  what  some  would 
name  humanity,  or  of  conscientious  scruples  to 
enter  upon  what  a  few  please  themselves  and 
their  rebel  friends  by  calling  a  "  wicked  war  "  ; 
if  under  any  or  all  these  influences  we  had  taken 
the  insult  and  the  violence  of  South  Carolina 
without  accepting  it  as  the  first  blow  of  a  mortal 
combat,  in  which  we  must  either  die  or  give  the 
last  and  finishing  stroke. 

By  the  same  title  which  South  Carolina  as 
serted  to  Fort  Sumter,  Florida  would  have  chal 
lenged  as  her  own  the  Gibraltar  of  the  Gulf, 
and  Virginia  the  Ehrenbreitstein  of  the  Ches 
apeake.  Half  our  navy  would  have  anchored 
under  the  guns  of  these  suddenly  alienated  for 
tresses,  with  the  flag  of  the  rebellion  flying  at 
their  peaks.  "  Old  Ironsides "  herself  would 
have  perhaps  sailed  out  of  Annapolis  harbor  to 
have  a  wooden  Jefferson  Davis  shaped  for  her 


430  THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL. 

figure-head  at  Norfolk,  —  for  Andrew  Jackson 
was  a  hater  of  secession,  and  his  was  no  fitting 
effigy  for  the  battle-ship  of  the  red-handed  con 
spiracy.  With  all  the  great  fortresses,  with 
half  the  ships  and  warlike  material,  in  addition 
to  all  that  was  already  stolen,  in  the  traitors' 
hands,  what  chance  would  the  loyal  men  in  the 
Border  States  have  stood  against  the  rush  of  the 
desperate  fanatics  of  the  now  triumphant  fac 
tion  ?  Where  would  Maryland,  Kentucky,  Mis 
souri,  Tennessee,  —  saved,  or  looking  to  be 
saved,  even  as  it  is,  as  by  fire,  —  have  been  in 
the  day  of  trial  ?  Into  whose  hands  would  the 
Capital,  the  archives,  the  glory,  the  name,  the 
very  life  of  the  nation  as  a  nation,  have  fallen, 
endangered  as  all  of  them  were,  in  spite  of  the 
volcanic  outburst  of  the  startled  North  which 
answered  the  roar  of  the  first  gun  at  Sumter  ? 
Worse  than  all,  are  we  permitted  to  doubt  that 
in  the  very  bosom  of  the  North  itself  there  was 
a  serpent,  coiled  but  not  sleeping,  which  only 
listened  for  the  first  word  that  made  it  safe  to 
strike,  to  bury  its  fangs  in  the  heart  of  Freedom, 
and  blend  its  golden  scales  in  close  embrace 


THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL.  431 

with  the  deadly  reptile  of  the  cotton-fields. 
Who  would  not  wish  that  he  were  wrong  in 
such  a  suspicion  ?  yet  who  can  forget  the  mys 
terious  warnings  that  the  allies  of  the  rebels 
were  to  be  found  far  north  of  the  fatal  boundary- 
line  ;  and  that  it  was  in  their  own  streets, 
against  their  own  brothers,  that  the  champions 
of  liberty  were  to  defend  her  sacred  heritage? 

Not  to  have  fought,  then,  after  the  supreme 
indignity  and  outrage  we  had  suffered,  would 
have  been  to  provoke  every  further  wrong,  and 
to  furnish  the  means  for  its  commission.  It 
would  have  been  to  placard  ourselves  on  the 
walls  of  the  shattered  fort,  as  the  spiritless  race 
the  proud  labor-thieves  called  us.  It  would 
have  been  to  die  as  a  nation  of  freemen,  and  to 
have  given  all  we  had  left  of  our  rights  into  the 
hands  of  alien  tyrants  in  league  with  home-bred 
traitors. 

Not  to  have  fought  would  have  been  to  be 
false  to  liberty  everywhere,  and  to  humanity. 
You  have  only  to  see  who  are  our  friends  and 
who  are  our  enemies  in  this  struggle,  to  decide 
for  what  principles  we  are  combating.  We 


432  THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL. 

know  too  well  that  the  British  aristocracy  is 
not  with  us.  We  know  what  the  West  End  of 
London  wishes  may  be  result  of  this  controversy. 
The  two  halves  of  this  Union  are  the  two  blades 
of  the  shears,  threatening  as  those  of  Atropos 
herself,  which  will  sooner  or  later  cut  into  shreds 
the  old  charters  of  tyranny.  How  they  would 
exult  if  they  could  but  break  the  rivet  that 
makes  of  the  two  blades  one  resistless  weapon  ! 
The  man  who  of  all  living  Americans  had  the 
best  opportunity  of  knowing  how  the  fact  stood, 
wrote  these  words  in  March,  1862 :  "  That 
Great  Britain  did,  in  the  most  terrible  moment 
of  our  domestic  trial  in  struggling  with  a  mon 
strous  social  evil  she  had  earnestly  professed  to 
abhor,  coldly  and  at  once  assume  our  inability 
to  master  it,  and  then  become  the  only  foreign 
nation  steadily  contributing  in  every  indirect 
way  possible  to  verify  its  pre-judgment,  will 
probably  be  the  verdict  made  up  against  her 
by  posterity,  on  a  calm  comparison  of  the  evi 
dence." 

So  speaks  the  wise,  tranquil  statesman  who 
represents  the  nation  at  the  Court  of  St.  James, 


THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL.  433 

in  (lie  midst  of  embarrassments  perhaps  not  less 
than  those  which  vexed  his  illustrious  grand 
father,  when  he  occupied  the  same  position  as 
the  Envoy  of  the  hated,  new-born  Republic. 

"  It  cannot  be  denied,"  •  -  says  another  ob 
server,  placed  on  one  of  our  national  watch- 
towers  in  a  foreign  capital,  — "  it  cannot  be 
denied  that  the  tendency  of  European  public 
opinion,  as  delivered  from  high  places,  is  more 
and  more  unfriendly  to  our  cause  "  :  —  "  but  the 
people/'  he  adds,  "  everywhere  sympathize  with 
us,  for  they  know  that  our  cause  is  that  of  free 
institutions,  —  that  our  struggle  is  that  of  the 
people  against  an  oligarchy."  These  are  the 
words  of  the  Minister  to  Austria,  whose  gener 
ous  sympathies  with  popular  liberty  no  homage 
paid  to  his  genius  by  the  class  whose  admiring 
welcome  is  most  seductive  to  scholars  has  ever 
spoiled  ;  our  fellow-citizen,  the  historian  of  a 
great  Republic  which  infused  a  portion  of  its  life 
into  our  own,  —  John  Lothrop  Motley. 

It  is  a  bitter  commentary  on  the  effects  of 
European,  and  especially  of  British  institutions, 
that  such  men  should  have  to  speak  in  such 

19 


434  THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL. 

terms  of  the  manner  in  which  our  struggle  has 
been  regarded.  We  had,  no  doubt,  very  gen 
erally  reckoned  on  the  sympathy  of  England,  at 
least,  in  a  strife  which,  whatever  -pretexts  were 
alleged  as  its  cause,  arrayed  upon  one  side  the 
supporters  of  an  institution  she  was  supposed  to 
hate  in  earnest,  and  on  the  other  its  assailants. 
We  had  forgotten  what  her  own  poet,  one  of  the 
truest  and  purest  of  her  children,  had  said  of  his 
countrymen,  in  words  which  might  well  have 
been  spoken  by  the  British  Premier  to  the 
American  Ambassador  asking  for  some  evidence 
of  kind  feeling  on  the  part  of  his  Government : 

"  Alas !  expect  it  not.     We  found  no  bait 
To  tempt  us  in  thy  country.     Doing  good, 
Disinterested  good,  is  not  our  trade." 

We  know  full  well  by  this  time  what  truth 
there  is  in  these  honest  lines.  We  have  found 
out,  too,  who  our  European  enemies  are,  and 
why  they  are  our  enemies.  Three  bending 
statues  bear  up  that  gilded  seat,  which,  in  spite 
of  the  time-hallowed  usurpations  and  consecrated 
wrongs  so  long  associated  with  its  history,  is  still 
venerated  as  the  throne.  One  of  these  supports 


THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL.  435 

is  the  pensioned  church  ;  the  second  is  the  pur 
chased  army ;  the  third  is  the  long-suffering 
people.  Whenever  the  third  caryatid  comes  to 
life  and  walks  from  beneath  its  burden,  the  cap 
itals  of  Europe  will  be  filled  with  the  broken 
furniture  of  palaces.  No  wonder  that  our  min 
isters  find  the  privileged  orders  willing  to  see 
the  ominous  republic  split  into  two  antagonistic 
forces,  each  paralyzing  the  other,  and  standing 
in  their  mighty  impotence  a  spectacle  to  courts 
and  kings ;  to  be  pointed  at  as  helots  who 
drank  thefniselves  blind  and  giddy  out  of  that 
broken  chalice  which  held  the  poisonous  draught 
of  liberty  ! 

We  know  our  enemies,  and  they  are  the  ene 
mies  of  popular  rights.  We  know  our  friends, 
and  they  are  the  foremost  champions  of  political 
and  social  progress.  The  eloquent  voice  and  the 
busy  pen  of  John  Bright  have  both  been  ours, 
heartily,  nobly,  from  the  first ;  the  man  of  the 
people  has  been  true  to  the  cause  of  the  people. 
That  deep  and  generous  thinker,  who,  more  than 
any  of  her  philosophical  writers,  represents  the 
higher  thought  of  England,  John  Stuart  Mill, 


436  THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL. 

has  spoken  for  us  in  tones  to  which  none  but 
her  sordid  hucksters  and  her  selfish  land-graspers 
can  refuse  to  listen.  Count  Gasparin  and  La- 
boulaye  have  sent  us  back  the  echo  from  liberal 
France ;  France,  the  country  of  ideas,  whose 
earlier  inspirations  embodied  themselves  for  us 
in  the  person  of  the  youthful  Lafayette.  Italy, 
—  would  you  know  on  which  side  the  rights  of 
the  people  and  the  hopes  of  the  future  are  to  be 
found  in  this  momentous  conflict,  what  surer 
test,  what  ampler  demonstration  can  you  ask 
than  the  eager  sympathy  of  the  Italian  patriot 
whose  name  is  the  hope  of  the  toiling  many, 
and  the  dread  of  their  oppressors,  wherever  it  is 
spoken,  the  heroic  Garibaldi? 

But  even  when  it  is  granted  that  the  war  was 
inevitable  ;  when  it  is  granted  that  it  is  for  no 
base  end,  but  first  for  the  life  of  the  nation,  and 
more  and  more,  as  the  quarrel  deepens,  for  the 
welfare  of  mankind,  for  knowledge  as  against  en 
forced  ignorance,  for  justice  as  against  oppression, 
for  that  kingdom  of  God  on  earth  which  neither 
the  unrighteous  man  nor  the  extortioner  can 


THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL.  437 

hope  to  inherit,  it  may  still  be  that  the  strife  is 
hopeless,  and  must  therefore  be  abandoned.  Is 
it  too  much  to  say  that  whether  the  war  is  hope 
less  or  not  for  the  North  depends  chiefly  on 
the  answer  to  the  question,  whether  the  North 
has  virtue  and  manhood  enough  to  persevere  in 
the  contest  so  long  as  its  resources  hold  out  ? 
But  how  much  virtue  and  manhood  it  has  can 
never  be  told  until  they  are  tried,  and  those 
who  are  first  to  doubt  the  prevailing  existence 
of  these  qualities  are  not  commonly  themselves 
patterns  of  either.  We  have  a  right  to  trust 
that  this  people  is  virtuous  and  brave  enough 
not  to  give  up  a  just  and  necessary  contest  be 
fore  its  end  is  attained,  or  shown  to  be  unattain 
able  for  want  of  material  agencies.  What  was 
the  end  to  be  attained  by  accepting  the  gage  of 
battle  ?  It  was  to  get  the  better  of  our  assail 
ants,  and,  having  done  so,  to  take  exactly  those 
steps  which  we  should  then  consider  necessary 
to  our  present  and  future  safety.  The  more 
obstinate  the  resistance,  the  more  completely 
must  it  be  subdued.  It  may  not  even  have 
been  desirable,  as  Mr.  Mill  suggested  long  since, 


438  THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL. 

that  the  victory  over  the  rebellion  should  have 
been  easily  and  speedily  won,  and  so  have  failed 
to  develop  the  true  meaning  of  the  conflict,  to 
bring  out  the  full  strength  of  the  revolted  sec 
tion,  and  to  exhaust  the  means  which  would 
have  served  it  for  a  still  more  desperate  future 
effort.  We  cannot  complain  that  our  task  has 
proved  too  easy.  We  give  our  Southern  army, 
—  for  we  must  remember  that  it  is  our  army, 
after  all,  only  in  a  state  of  mutiny,  —  we  give 
our  Southern  army  credit  for  excellent  spirit  and 
perseverance  in  the  face  of  many  disadvantages. 
But  we  have  a  few  plain  facts  which  show  the 
probable  course  of  events  ;  the  gradual  but  sure 
operation  of  the  blockade  ;  the  steady  pushing 
back  of  the  boundary  of  rebellion,  in  spite  of 
resistance  at  many  points,  or  even  of  such  aggres 
sive  inroads  as  that  which  our  armies  are  now 
meeting  with  their  long  lines  of  bayonets,  — 
may  God  grant  them  victory !  —  the  progress 
of  our  arms  down  the  Mississippi ;  the  relative 
value  of  gold  and  currency  at  Richmond  and 
Washington.  If  the  index-hands  of  force  and 
credit  continue  to  move  in  the  ratio  of  the  past 


THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL.  439 

two  years,  where  will  the   Confederacy  be  in 
twice  or  thrice  that  time  ? 

Either  all  our  statements  of  the  relative  num 
bers,  power,  and  wealth  of  the  two  sections  of 
the  country  signify  nothing,  or  the  resources  of 
our  opponents  in  men  and  means  must  be  much 
nearer  exhaustion  than  our  own.  The  running 
sand  of  the  hour-glass  gives  no  warning,  but 
runs  as  freely  as  ever  when  its  last  grains  are 
about  to  fall.  The  merchant  wears  as  bold  a 
face  the  day  before  he  is  proclaimed  a  bankrupt, 
as  he  wore  at  the  height  of  his  fortunes.  If 
Colonel  Grierson  found  the  Confederacy  "a 
mere  shell,"  so  far  as  his  equestrian  excursion 
carried  him,  how  can  we-  say  how  soon  the  shell 
will  collapse  ?  It  seems  impossible  that  our  own 
dissensions  can  produce  anything  more  than 
local  disturbances,  like  the  Morristown  revolt, 
which  Washington  put  down  at  once  by  the  aid 
of  his  faithful  Massachusetts  soldiers.  But  in  a 
rebellious  state  dissension  is  ruin,  and  the  vio 
lence  of  an  explosion  in  a  strict  ratio  to  the 
pressure  on  every  inch  of  the  containing  surface. 
Now  we  know  the  tremendous  force  which  has 


440  THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL. 

• 

compelled  the  "  unanimity "  of  the  Southern 
people.  There  are  men  in1  the  ranks  of  the 
Southern  army,  if  we  can  trust  the  evidence 
which  reaches  us,  who  have  been  recruited  with 
packs  of  blood-hounds,  and  drilled,  as  it  were, 
with  halters  around  their  necks.  We  know  what 
is  the  bitterness  of  those  who  have  escaped  this 
bloody  harvest  of  the  remorseless  conspirators  ; 
and  from  that  we  can  judge  of  the  elements  of 
destruction  incorporated  with  many  of  the  seem 
ingly  solid  portions  of  the  fabric  of  the  rebellion. 
The  facts  are  necessarily  few,  but  we  can  reason 
from  the  laws  of  human  nature  as  to  what  must 
be  the  feelings  of  the  people  of  the  South  to  their 
Northern  neighbors.  It  is  impossible  that  the 
love  of  the  life  which  they  have  had  in  common, 
their  glorious  recollections,  their  blended  histo 
ries,  their  sympathies  as  Americans,  their  mingled 
blood,  their  birthright  as  born  under  the  same 
flag  and  protected  by  it  the  world  over,  their 
worship  of  the  same  God,  under  the  same  out 
ward  form,  at  least,  and  in  the  folds  of  the  same 
ecclesiastical  organizations,  should  all  be  forgot 
ten,  and  leave  nothing  but  hatred  and  eternal 


THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL.  /Al 

alienation.  Men  do  not  change  in  this  way,  and 
we  may  be  quite  sure  that  the  pretended  una 
nimity  of  the  South  will  some  day  or  other 
prove  to  have  been  a  part  of  the  machinery 
of  deception  which  the  plotters  have  managed 
with  such  consummate  skill.  It  is  hardly  to  be 
doubted  that  in  every  part  of  the  South,  as  in 
New  Orleans,  in  Charleston,  in  Richmond,  there 
are  multitudes  who  wait  for  the  day  of  deliver 
ance,  and  for  whom  the  coming  of  u  our  good 
friends,  the  enemies,"  as  Beranger  has  it,  will  be 
like  the  advent  of  the  angels  to  the  prison-cells 
of  Paul  and  Silas.  But  there  is  no  need  of 
depending  on  the  aid  of  our  white  Southern 
friends,  be  they  many  or  be  they  few  ;  there  is 
material  power  enough  in  the  North,  if  there  be 
the  will  to  use  it,  to  overrun  and  by  degrees  to 
recolonize  the  South,  and  it  is  far  from  impossi 
ble  that  some  such  process  may  be  a  part  of  the 
mechanism  of  its  new  birth,  spreading  from  va 
rious  centres  of  organization,  on  the  plan  which 
Nature  follows  when  she  would  fill  a  half-fin 
ished  tissue  with  bloodvessels,  or  change  a 
temporary  cartilage  into  bone. 

19* 


442  THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL. 

Suppose,  however,  that  the  prospects  of  the 
war  were,  we  need  not  say  absolutely  hopeless, 
—  because  that  is  the  unfounded  hypothesis  of 
those  whose  wish  is  father  to  their  thought,  — 
but  full  of  discouragement.  Can  we  make  a 
safe  and  honorable  peace  as  the  quarrel  now 
stands  ?  As  honor  comes  before  safety,  let  us 
look  at  that  first.  We  have  undertaken  to 
resent  a  supreme  insult,  and  have  had  to  bear 
new  insults  and  aggressions,  even  to  the  direct 
menace  of  our  national  capital.  The  blood 
which  our  best  and  bravest  have  shed  will  never 
sink  into  the  ground  until  our  wrongs  are 
righted,  or  the  power  to  right  them  is  shown  to 
be  insufficient.  If  we  stop  now,  all  the  loss  of 
life  has  been  butchery ;  if  we  carry  out  the  in 
tention  with  which  we  first  resented  the  outrage, 
the  earth  drinks  up  the  blood  of  our  martyrs, 
and  the  rose  of  honor  blooms  forever  where  it 
was  shed.  To  accept  less  than  indemnity  for 
the  past,  so  far  as  the  wretched  kingdom  of  the 
conspirators  can  afford  it,  and  security  for  the 
future,  would  discredit  us  in  our  own  eyes  and 
in  the  eyes  of  those  who  hate  and  long  to  be 


THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL.  443 

able  to  despise  us.  But  to  reward  the  insults 
and  the  robberies  we  have  suffered,  by  the  sur 
render  of  our  fortresses  along  the  coast,  in  the 
national  gulf,  and  on  the  banks  of  the  national 
river,  —  and  this  and  much  more  would  surely 
be  demanded  of  us,  —  would  place  the  United 
Fraction  of  America  on  a  level  with  the  Peru 
vian  guano-islands,  whose  ignoble  but  coveted 
soil  is  open  to  be  plundered  by  all  comers ! 

If  we  could  make  a  peace  without  dishonor, 
could  we  make  one  that  would  be  safe  and  last 
ing  ?  We  could  have  an  armistice,  no  doubt, 
lon<T  enough  for  the  flesh  of  our  wounded  men 

O  O 

to  heal  and  their  broken  bones  to  knit  together. 
But  could  we  expect  a  solid,  substantial,  endur 
ing  peace,  in  which  the  grass  would  have  time 
to  grow  in  the  war-paths,  and  the  bruised  arms 
to  rust,  as  the  old  G.  R.  cannon  rusted  in  our 
State  arsenal,  sleeping  with  their  tompions  in 
their  mouths,  like  so  many  sucking  lambs  ?  It  is 
not  the  question  whether  the  same  set  of  soldiers 
would  be  again  summoned  to  the  field.  Let  us 
take  it  for  granted  that  we  have  seen  enough  of 
the  miseries  of  warfare  to  last  us  for  a  while, 


444  THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL. 

and  keep  us  contented  with  militia  musters  and 
sham-fights.  The  question  is  whether  we  could 
leave  our  children  and  our  children's  children 
with  any  secure  trust  that  they  would  not  have- 
to  go  through  the  very  trials  we  are  enduring, 
probably  on  a  more  extended  scale  and  in  a 
more  aggravated  form. 

It  may  be  well  to  look  at  the  prospects  before 
us,  if  a  peace  is  established  on  the  basis  of 
Southern  independence,  the  only  peace  possible, 
unless  we  choose  to  add  ourselves  to  the  four 
millions  who  already  call  the  Southern  whites 
their  masters.  We  know  what  the  prevailing 
—  we  do  not  mean  universal  —  spirit  and  tem 
per  of  those  people  have  been  for  generations, 
and  what  they  are  like  to  be  after  a  long  and 
bitter  warfare.  We  know  what  their  tone  is  to 
the  people  of  the  North  ;  if  we  do  not,  De  Bow 
and  Governor  Hammond  are  schoolmasters  who 
will  teach  us  to  our  heart's  content.  We  see 
how  easily  their  social  organization  adapts  itself 
to  a  state  of  warfare.  They  breed  a  superior 
order  of  men  for  leaders,  an  ignorant  common 
alty  ready  to  follow  them  as  the  vassals  of  feudal 


THE  INEVITABLE    TRIAL.  445 

times  followed  their  lords  ;  and  a  race  of  bonds 
men,  who,  unless  this  war  changes  them  from 
chattels  to  human  beings,  will  continue  to  add 
vastly  to  their  military  strength  in  raising  their 
food,  in  building  their  fortifications,  in  all  the 
mechanical  work  of  war,  in  fact,  except,  it  may 
be,  the  handling  of  weapons.  The  institution 
proclaimed  as  the  corner-stone  of  their  govern 
ment,  does  violence  not  merely  to  the  precepts 
of  religion,  but  to  many  of  the  best  human  in 
stincts,  yet  their  fanaticism  for  it  is  as  sincere  as 
any  tribe  of  the  desert  ever  manifested  for  the 
faith  of  the  Prophet  of  Allah.  They  call  them 
selves  by  the  same  name  as  the  Christians  of  the 
North,  yet  there  is  as  much  difference  between 
their  Christianity  and  that  of  Wesley  or  of 
Channing,  as  between  creeds  that  in  past  times 
have  vowed  mutual  extermination.  Still  we 
must  not  call  them  barbarians  because  they 
cherish  an  institution  hostile  to  civilization. 
Their  highest  culture  stands  out  all  the  more 
brilliantly  from  the  dark  background  of  igno 
rance  against  which  it  is  seen  ;  but  it  would  be 
injustice  to  deny  that  they  have  always  shone  in 


446  THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL. 

political  science,  or  that  their  military  capacity 
makes  them  most  formidable  antagonists,  and 
that,  however  inferior  they  may  be  to  their 
Northern  fellow-countrymen  in  most  branches 
of  literature  and  science,  the  social  elegances  and 
personal  graces  lend  their  outward  show  to  the 
best  circles  among  their  dominant  class. 

Whom  have  we  then  for  our  neighbors,  in 
case  of  separation,  —  our  neighbors  along  a 
splintered  line  of  fracture  extending  for  thou 
sands  of  miles,  —  but  the  Saracens  of  the  Nine 
teenth  Century  ;  a  fierce,  intolerant,  fanatical 
people,  the  males  of  which  will  be  a  perpetual 
standing  army  ;  hating  us  worse  than  the 
Southern  Hamilcar  taught  his  swarthy  boy  to 
hate  the  Romans  ;  a  people  whose  existence  as 
a  hostile  nation  on  our  frontier,  is  incompatible 
with  our  peaceful  development?  Their  wealth, 
the  proceeds  of  enforced  labor,  multiplied  by  the 
breaking  up  df  new  cotton-fields,  and  in  due 
time  by  the  reopening  of  the  slave-trade,  will 
go  to  purchase  arms,  to  construct  fortresses,  to 
fit  out  navies.  The  old  Saracens,  fanatics  for  a 
religion  which  professed  to  grow  by  conquest, 


THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL.  447 

were  a  nation  of  predatory  and  migrating  war 
riors.  The  Southern  people,  fanatics  for  a  sys 
tem  essentially  aggressive,  conquering,  wasting, 
which  cannot  remain  stationary,  but  must  grow 
by  alternate  appropriations  of  labor  and  of  land, 
will  come  to  resemble  their  earlier  prototypes. 
Already,  even,  the  insolence  of  their  language 
to  the  people  of  the  North  is  a  close  imitation 
of  the  style  which  those  proud  and  arrogant 
Asiatics  affected  toward  all  the  nations  of  Eu 
rope.  What  the  "  Christian  dogs  "  were  to  the 
followers  of  Mahomet,  the  "  accursed  Yankees," 
the  "  Northern  mudsills  "  are  to  the  followers  of 
the  Southern  Moloch.  The  accomplishments 
which  we  find  in  their  choicer  circles,  were  pre 
figured  in  the  court  of  the  chivalric  Saladin,  and 
the  long  train  of  Painim  knights  who  rode  forth 
to  conquest  under  the  Crescent.  In  all  branches 
of  culture,  their  heathen  predecessors  went  far 
beyond  them.  The  schools  of  mediaeval  learn 
ing  were  filled  with  Arabian  teachers.  The 
heavens  declare  the  glory  of  the  Oriental  astron 
omers,  as  Algorab  and  Aldebaran  repeat  their 
Arabic  names  to  the  students  of  the  starry 


448  THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL. 

firmament.  The  sumptuous  edifice  erected  by 
the  Art  of  the  nineteenth  century,  to  hold  the 
treasures  of  its  Industry,  could  show  nothing 
fairer  than  the  court  which  copies  the  Moorish 
palace  that  crowns  the  summit  of  Granada. 
Yet  this  was  the  power  which  Charles  the 
Hammer,  striking  for  Christianity  and  civiliza 
tion,  had  to  break  like  a  potter's  vessel ;  these 
were  the  people  whom  Spain  had  to  utterly 
extirpate  from  the  land  where  they  had  ruled 
for  centuries  ! 

Prepare,  then,  if  you  unseal  the  vase  which 
holds  this  dangerous  Afrit  of  Southern  nation 
ality,  for  a  power  on  your  borders  that  will  be  to 
you  what  the  Saracens  were  to  Europe  before 
the  son  of  Pepin  shattered  their  armies,  and 
flung  the  shards  and  shivers  of  their  broken 
strength  upon  the  refuse  heap  of  extinguished 
barbarisms.  Prepare  for  the  possible  fate  of 
Christian  Spain  ;  for  a  slave-market  in  Philadel 
phia  ;  for  the  Alhambra  of  a  Southern  caliph 
on  the  grounds  consecrated  by  the  domestic  vir 
tues  of  a  long  line  of  Presidents  and  their  exem 
plary  families.  Remember  the  ages  of  border 


THE  INEVITABLE   TRIslL.  449 

warfare  between  England  and  Scotland,  closed 
at  last  by  the  union  of  the  two  kingdoms.  Rec 
ollect  the  hunting  of  the  deer  on  the  Cheviot 
hills,  and  all  that  it  led  to  ;  then  think  of  the 
game  which  the  dogs  will  follow  open-mouthed 
across  our  Southern  border,  and  all  that  is  like 
to  follow  which  the  child  may  rue  that  is  un 
born  ;  think  of  these  possibilities,  or  probabilities, 
if  you  will,  and  say  whether  you  are  ready  to 
make  a  peace  which  will  give  you  such  a  neigh 
bor  ;  which  may  betray  your  civilization  as  that 
of  half  the  Peninsula  was  given  up  to  the 
Moors  ;  which  may  leave  your  fair  border  prov 
inces  to  be  crushed  under  the  heel  of  a  tyrant, 
as  Holland  was  left  to  be  trodden  down  by  the 
Duke  of  Alva! 

No  !  no  !  fellow-citizens  !    We  must  fio-ht  in 

C5 

this  quarrel  until  one  side  or  the  other  is  ex 
hausted.  Rather  than  suffer  all  that  we  have 
poured  out  of  our  blood,  all  that  we  have  lav 
ished  of  our  substance,  to  have  been  expended  in 
vain,  and  to  bequeath  an  unsettled  question,  an 
unfinished  conflict,  an  unavenged  insult,  an  un- 
righted  wrong,  a  stained  escutcheon,  a  tarnished 

c  o 


450  THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL. 

shield,  a  dishonored  flag,  an  unheroic  memory 
to  the  descendants  of  those  who  have  always 
claimed  that  their  fathers  were  heroes  ;  rather 
than  do  all  this,  it  were  hardly  an  American 
exaggeration  to  say,  better  that  the  last  man  and 
the  last  dollar  should  be  followed  by  the  last 
woman  and  the  last  dime,  the  last  child  and  the 
last  copper! 

There  are  those  who  profess  to  fear  that  our 
Government  is  becoming  a  mere  irresponsible 
tyranny.  If  there  are  any  who  really  believe 
that  our  present  Chief  Magistrate  means  to 
found  a  dynasty  for  himself  and  family,  —  that  a 
coup  d'etat  is  in  preparation  by  which  he  is  to 
become  ABRAHAM,  DEI  GRATIA  REX,  —  they 
cannot  have  duly  pondered  his  letter  of  June 
12th,  in  which  he  unbosoms  himself  with  the 
simplicity  of  a  rustic  lover  called  upon  by  an 
anxious  parent  to  explain  his  intentions.  The 
force  of  his  argument  is  not  at  all  injured  by  the 
homeliness  of  his  illustrations.  The  American 
people  are  not  much  afraid  that  their  liberties 
will  be  usurped.  An  army  of  legislators  is  not 


THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL.  451 

very  likely  to  throw  away  its  political  privileges, 
and  the  idea  of  a  despotism  resting  on  an  open 
ballot-box,  is  like  that  of  Bunker  Hill  Monument 
built  on  the  waves  of  Boston  Harbor.  We 
know  pretty  nearly  how  much  of  sincerity  there 
is  in  the  fears  so  clamorously  expressed,  and 
how  far  they  are  found  in  company  with  uncom 
promising  hostility  to  the  armed  enemies  of  the 
nation.  We  have  learned  to  put  a  true  value 
on  the  services  of  the  watch-dog  who  bays  the 
moon,  but  does  not  bite  the  thief! 

The  men  who  are  so  busy  holy-stoning  the 
quarter-deck,  while  all  hands  are  wanted  to  keep 
the  ship  afloat,  can  no  doubt  show  spots  upon  it 
that  would  be  very  unsightly  in  fair  weather. 
No  thoroughly  loyal  man,  however,  need  suffer 
from  any  arbitrary  exercise  of  power,  such  as 
emergencies  always  give  rise  to.  If  any  half- 
loyal  man  forgets  his  code  of  half-decencies  and 
half-duties  so  far  as  to  become  obnoxious  to  the 
peremptory  justice  which  takes  the  place  of 
slower  forms  in  all  centres  of  conflagration, 
there  is  no  sympathy  for  him  among  the  soldiers 
who  are  risking  their  lives  for  us  ;  perhaps  there 


452  THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL. 

is  even  more  satisfaction  than  when  an  avowed 
traitor  is  caught  and  punished.  For  of  all  men 
who  are  loathed  by  generous  natures,  such  as 
fill  the  ranks  of  the  armies  of  the  Union,  none 
are  so  thoroughly  loathed  as  the  men  who  con 
trive  to  keep  just  within  the  limits  of  the  law, 
while  their  whole  conduct  provokes  others  to 
break  it ;  whose  patriotism  consists  in  stopping 
an  inch  short  of  treason,  and  whose  political 
morality  has  for  its  safeguard  a  just  respect  for 
the  jailer  and  the  hangman  !  The  simple  pre 
ventive  against  all  possible  injustice  a  citizen  is 
like  to  suffer  at  the  hands  of  a  government 
which  in  its  need  and  haste  must  of  course  com 
mit  many  errors,  is  to  take  care  to  do  nothing 
that  will  directly  or  indirectly  help  the  enemy, 
or  hinder  the  government  in  carrying  on  the 
war.  When  the  clamor  against  usurpation  and 
tyranny  comes  from  citizens  who  can  claim  this 
negative  merit,  it  may  be  listened  to.  When  it 
comes  from  those  who  have  done  what  they 
could  to  serve  their  country,  it  will  receive  the 
attention  it  deserves.  Doubtless,  there  may 
prove  to  be  wrongs  which  demand  righting,  but 


THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL.  453 

the  pretence  of  any  plan  for  changing  the  essen 
tial  principle  of  our  self-governing  system  is  a 
figment  which  its  contrivers  laugh  over  among 
themselves.  Do  the  citizens  of  Harrisburg  or 
of  Philadelphia  quarrel  to-day  about  the  strict 
locality  of  an  executive  act  meant  in  good  faith 
for  their  protection  against  the  invader  ?  We 
are  all  citizens  of  Harrisburg,  all  citizens  of 
Philadelphia,  in  this  hour  of  their  peril,  and 
with  the  enemy  at  work  in  our  own  harbors,  we 
begin  to  understand  the  difference  between  a 
good  and  bad  citizen  ;  the  man  that  helps  and 
the  man  that  hinders  ;  the  man  who,  while  the 
pirate  is  in  sight,  complains  that  our  anchor 
is  dragging  in  his  mud,  and  the  man  who  vio 
lates  the  proprieties,  like  our  brave  Portland 
brothers,  when  they  jumped  on  board  the  first 
steamer  they  could  reach,  cut  her  cable,  and 
bore  down  on  the  corsair,  with  a  habeas  corpus 
act  that  lodged  twenty  buccaneers  in  Fort  Preble 
before  sunset ! 

We  cannot,  then,  we  cannot  be  circling  in 
ward  to  be  swallowed  up   in  the  whirlpool  of 


454  THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL. 

national  destruction.  If  our  borders  are  in 
vaded,  it  is  only  as  the  spur  that  is  driven  into 
the  courser's  flank  to  rouse  his  slumberin^  met- 

& 

tie.  If  our  property  is  taxed,  it  is  only  to  teach 
us  that  liberty  is  worth  paying  for  as  well  as 
fighting  for.  We  are  pouring  out  the  most  gen 
erous  blood  of  our  youth  and  manhood  ;  alas  ! 
this  is  always  the  price  that  must  be  paid  for 
the  redemption  of  a  people.  What  have  we  to 
complain  of,  whose  granaries  are  choking  with 
plenty,  whose  streets  are  gay  with  shining  robes 
and  glittering  equipages,  whose  industry  is  abun 
dant  enough  to  reap  all  its  overflowing  harvest, 
yet  sure  of  employment  and  of  its  just  reward, 
the  soil  of  whose  mighty  valleys  is  an  inexhaus 
tible  mine  of  fertility,  whose  mountains  cover 
up  such  stores  of  heat  and  power,  imprisoned  in 
their  coal  measures,  as  would  warm  all  the  in 
habitants  and  work  all  the  machinery  of  our 
planet  for  unnumbered  ages,  whose  rocks  pour 
out  rivers  of  oil,  whose  streams  run  yellow 
over  beds  of  golden  sand,  —  what  have  we  to 
complain  of? 
Have  we  degenerated  from  our  English  fathers, 


THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL.  455 

so  that  we  cannot  do  and  bear  for  our  national 
salvation  what  they  have  done  and  borne  over 
and  over  again  for  their  form  of  government? 
Could  England,  in  her  wars  with  Napoleon,  bear 
an  income-tax  of  ten  per  cent,  and  must  we  faint 
under  the  burden  of  an  income-tax  of  three  per 
cent.  ?  Was  she  content  to  negotiate  a  loan  at 
fifty-three,  for  the  hundred,  and  that  paid  in  de 
preciated  paper,  and  can  we  talk  about  financial 
ruin  with  our  national  stocks  ranging  from 
one  to  eight  or  nine  above  par,  and  the  "  five- 
twenty"  war  loan  eagerly  taken  by  our  own 
people  to  the  amount  of  nearly  two  hundred 
millions,  without  any  check  to  the  flow  of  the 
current  pressing  inwards  against  the  doors  of 
the  Treasury  ?  Except  in  those  portions  of  the 
country  which  are  the  immediate  seat  of  war, 
or  liable  to  be  made  so,  and  which,  having  the 
greatest  interest  not  to  become  the  border  states 
of  hostile  nations,  can  best  afford  to  suffer  now, 
the  state  of  prosperity  and  comfort  is  such  as  to 
astonish  those  who  visit  us  from  other  countries. 
What  are  war  taxes  to  a  nation  which,  as  we 
are  assured  on  good  authority,  has  more  men 


456  THE  INEVITABLE    TRIAL. 

worth  a  million  now  than  it  had  worth  ten 
thousand  dollars  at  the  close  of  the  Revolution, 
—  whose  whole  property  is  a  hundred  times, 
and  whose  commerce,  inland  and  foreign,  is  five 
hundred  times,  what  it  was  then  ?  But  we  need 
not  study  Mr.  Still^'s  pamphlet  and  "  Thomp 
son's  Bank-Note  Reporter,"  to  show  us  what 
we  know  well  enough,  —  that,  so  far  from  hav 
ing  occasion  to  tremble  in  fear  of  our  impending 
ruin,  we  must  rather  blush  for  our  material 
prosperity.  For  the  multitudes  who  are  unfor 
tunate  enough  to  be  taxed  for  a  million  or  more, 
of  course  we  must  feel  deeply,  at  the  same  time 
suggesting  that  the  more  largely  they  report 
their  incomes  to  the  tax-gatherer,  the  more  con 
solation  they  will  find  in  the  feeling  that  they 
have  served  their  country.  But  —  let  us  say  it 
plainly  —  it  will  not  hurt  our  people  to  be 
taught  that  there  are  other  things  to  be  cared 
for  besides  money-making  and  money-spending  ; 
that  the  time  has  come  when  manhood  must 
assert  itself  by  brave  deeds  and  noble  thoughts  ; 
when  womanhood  must  assume  its  most  sacred 
office,  "  to  warn,  to  comfort,"  and,  if  need  be, 


THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL.  457 

"  to  command,"  those  whose  services  their  coun 
try  calls  for.  This  Northern  section  of  the  land 
has  become  a  great  variety  shop,  of  which  the 
Atlantic  cities  are  the  long-extended  counter. 
We  have  grown  rich  for  what  ?  To  put  gilt 
bands  on  coachmen's  hats  ?  To  sweep  the  foul 
sidewalks  with  the  heaviest  silks  which  the  toil 
ing  artisans  of  France  can  send  us  ?  To  look 
through  plate-glass  windows,  and  pity  the  brown 
soldiers,  —  or  sneer  at  the  black  ones  ?  to  re 
duce  the  speed  of  trotting  horses  a  second  or 
two  below  its  old  minimum  ?  to  color  meer 
schaums  ?  to  flaunt  in  laces,  and  sparkle  in 
diamonds  ?  to  dredge  our  maidens'  hair  with 
gold-dust  ?  to  float  through  life,  the  passive 
shuttlecocks  of  fashion,  from  the  avenues  to  the 
beaches,  and  back  again  from  the  beaches  to 
the  avenues  ?  Was  it  for  this  that  the  broad 
domain  of  the  Western  hemisphere  was  kept  so 
long  unvisited  by  civilization?  —  for  this,  that 
Time,  the  father  of  empires,  unbound  the  virgin 
zone  of  this  youngest  of  his  daughters,  and  gave 
her,  beautiful  in  the  long  veil  of  her  forests,  to 
the  rude  embrace  of  the  adventurous  Colonist  ? 
20 


458  THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL. 

All  this  is  what  we  see  around  us,  now,  —  now, 
while  we  are  actually  fighting  this  great  battle, 
and  supporting  this  great  load  of  indebtedness. 
Wait  till  the  diamonds  go  back  to  the  Jews  of 
Amsterdam  ;  till  the  plate-glass  window  bears 
the  fatal  announcement,  For  Sale  or  to  Let ;  till 
the  voice  of  our  Miriam  is  obeyed,  as  she  sings, 
Weave  no  more  silks,  ye  Lyons  looms!  " 

till   the    o;old-dust   is  combed    from   the   golden 

&  ~ 

locks,  and  hoarded  to  buy  bread  ;  till  the  fast- 
driving  youth  smokes  his  clay-pipe  on  the  plat 
form  of  the  horse-car  ;  till  the  music-grinders 
cease  because  none  will  pay  them  ;  till  there  are 
no  peaches  in  the  windows  at  twenty-four  dol 
lars  a  dozen,  and  no  heaps  of  bananas  and  pine 
apples  selling  at  the  street-corners  ;  till  the 
ten-flounced  dress  has  but  three  flounces,  and  it 
is  felony  to  drink  champagne ;  —  wait  till  these 
changes  show  themselves,  the  signs  of  deeper 
wants,  the  preludes  of  exhaustion  and  bank 
ruptcy  ;  then  let  us  talk  of  the  Maelstrom  ;  — 
but  till  then,  let  us  not  be  cowards  with  our 
purses,  while  brave  men  are  emptying  their 
hearts  upon  the  earth  for  us  ;  let  us  not  whine 


THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL.  459 

over  our  imaginary  ruin,  while  the  reversed 
current  of  circling  events  is  carrying  us  farther 
and  farther,  every  hour,  out  'of  the  influence 
of  the  great  failing  which  was  born  of  our 
wealth,  and  of  the  deadly  sin  which  was  our 
fatal  inheritance  ! 

Let  us  take  a  brief  general  glance  at  the  wide 
field  of  discussion  we  are  just  leaving. 

On  Friday,  the  twelfth  day  of  the  month  of 
April,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  eighteen  hundred 
and  sixty-one,  at  half  past  four  of  the  clock  in 
the  afternoon,  a  cannon  was  aimed  and  fired  by 
the  authority  of  South  Carolina  at  the  wall  of  a 
fortress  belonging  to  the  United  States.  Its  ball 
carried  with  it  the  hatreds,  the  rages  of  thirty 
years,  shaped  and  cooled  in  the  mould  of  ma 
lignant  deliberation.  Its  wad  was  the  charter 
of  our  national  existence.  Its  muzzle  was 
pointed  at  the  stone  which  bore  the  symbol  of 
our  national  sovereignty.  As  the  echoes  of  its 
thunder  died  away,  the  telegraph  clicked  one 
word  through  every  office  of  the  land.  That 
word  was  WAR  I 


460  THE  INEVITABLE    TRIAL. 

War  is  a  child  that  devours  its  nurses  one 
after  another,  until  it  is  claimed  by  its  true 
parents.  This  war  has  eaten  its  way  backward 
through  all  the  technicalities  of  lawyers,  learned 
in  the  infinitesimals  of  ordinances  and  statutes  ; 
through  all  the  casuistries  of  divines,  experts  in 
the  differential  calculus  of  conscience  and  duty  ;• 
until  it  stands  revealed  to  all  men  as  the  natural 
and  inevitable  conflict  of  two  incompatible  forms 
of  civilization,  one  or  the  other  of  which  must 
dominate  the  central  zone  of  the  continent,  and 
eventually  claim  the  hemisphere  for  its  devel 
opment. 

We  have  reached  the  region  of  those  broad 
principles  and  large  axioms  which  the  wise 
Romans,  the  world's  lawgivers,  always  recog 
nized  as  above  all  special  enactments.  We 
have  come  to  that  solid  substratum  acknowl 
edged  by  Grotius  in  his  great  Treatise  :  "  Ne 
cessity  itself,  which  reduces  things  to  the  mere 
right  of  Nature."  The  old  rules  which  were 
enough  for  our  guidance  in  quiet  times,  have 
become  as  meaningless  "  as  moonlight  on  the 
dial  of  the  day."  We  have  followed  precedents 


THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL.  461 

as  long  as  they  could  guide  us  ;  now  we  must 
make  precedents  for  the  ages  which  are  to  suc 
ceed  us. 

If  we  are  frightened  from  our  object  by  the 
money  we  have  spent,  the  current  prices  of 
United  States  stocks  show  that  we  value  our 
nationality  at  only  a  small  fraction  of  our  wealth. 
If  we  feel  that  we  are  paying  too  dearly  for  it  in 
the  blood  of  our  people,  let  us  recall  those  grand 
words  of  Samuel  Adams  :  — 

"  I  should  advise  persisting  in  our  struggle 
for  liberty,  though  it  were  revealed  from  heaven 
that  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  were  to  per 
ish,  and  only  one  of  a  thousand  were  to  survive 
and  retain  his  liberty  !  " 

What  we  want  now  is  a  strong  purpose  ;  the 
purpose  of  Luther,  when  he  said,  in  repeating 
his  Pater  Noster,  fiat  voluntas  MEA,  —  let  my 
will  be  done  ;  though  he  considerately  added, 
quiet,  Tua,  —  because  my  will  is  Thine.  We 
want  the  virile  energy  of  determination  which 
made  the  oath  of  Andrew  Jackson  sound  so  like 
the  devotion  of  an  ardent  saint  that  the  record 
ing  angel  might  have  entered  it  unquestioned 
among  the  prayers  of  the  faithful. 


462  THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL. 

War  is  a  grim  business.  Two  years  ago  our 
women's  fingers  were  busy  making  "  Have- 
locks."  It  seemed  to  us  then  as  if  the  Havelock 
made  half  the  soldier  ;  and  now  we  smile  to 
think  of  those  days  of  inexperience  and  illusion. 
We  know  now  what  War  means,  and  we  cannot 
look  its  dull,  dead  ghastliness  in  the  face  unless 
we  feel  that  there  is  some  great  and  noble  prin 
ciple  behind  it.  It  makes  little  difference  what 
we  thought  we  were  fighting  for  at  first ;  we 
know  what  we  are  fighting  for  now,  and  what 
we  are  fighting  against. 

We  are  fighting  for  our  existence.  We  say  to 
those  who  would  take  back  their  several  contri 
butions  to  that  undivided  unity  which  we  call 
the  Nation  ;  the  bronze  is  cast ;  the  statue  is  on 
its  pedestal ;  you  cannot  reclaim  the  brass  you 
flung  into  the  crucible  !  There  are  rights,  pos 
sessions,  privileges,  policies,  relations,  duties, 
acquired,  retained,  called  into  existence  in  virtue 
of  the  principle  of  absolute  solidarity,  —  belong 
ing  to  the  United  States  as  an  organic  whole,  — 
which  cannot  be  divided,  which  none  of  its  con 
stituent  parties  can  claim  as  its  own,  which  per- 


THE  INEVITABLE    TRIAL.  463 

ish  out  of  its  living  frame  when  the  wild  forces 
of  rebellion  tear  it  limb  from  limb,  and  which 
it  must  defend,  or  confess  self-government  itself 
a  failure. 

We  are  fighting  for  that  Constitution  upon 
which  our  national  existence  reposes,  now  sub 
jected  by  those  who  fired  the  scroll  on  which 
it  was  written  from  the  cannon  at  Fort  Sumter, 
to  all  those  chances  which  the  necessities  of  war 
entail  upon  every  human  arrangement,  but  still 
the  venerable  charter  of  our  wide  Republic. 

We  cannot  fight  for  these  objects  without 
attacking  the  one  mother  cause  of  all  the  pro 
geny  of  lesser  antagonisms.  Whether  we  know 
it  or  not,  whether  we  mean  it  or  not,  we  cannot 
help  fighting  against  the  system  that  has  proved 
the  source  of  all  those  miseries  which  the  author 
of  the  Declaration  of  Independence  trembled  to 
anticipate.  And  this  ought  to  make  us  willing 
to  do  and  to  suffer  cheerfully.  There  were  Holy 
Wars  of  old,  in  which  it  was  glory  enough  to 
die,  wars  in  which  the  one  aim  was  to  rescue  the 
sepulchre  of  Christ  from  the  hands  of  infidels. 
The  sepulchre  of  Christ  is  not  in  Palestine ! 


464  THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL. 

He  rose  from  that  burial-place  more  than  eigh 
teen  hundred  years  ago.  He  is  crucified  where- 
ever  his  brothers  are  slain  without  cause  ;  he 
lies  buried  wherever  man,  made  in  his  Maker's 
image,  is  entombed  in  ignorance  lest  he  should 
learn  the  rights  which  his  Divine  Master  gave 
him  !  This  is  our  Holy  War,  and  we  must 
fight  it  against  that  great  General  who  will 
bring  to  it  all  the  powers  with  which  he  fought 
against  the  Almighty  before  he  was  cast  down 
from  heaven.  He  has  retained  many  a  cunning 
advocate  to  recruit  for  him  ;  he  has  bribed  many 
a  smooth-tongued  preacher  to  be  his  chaplain  ; 
he  has  engaged  the  sordid  by  their  avarice,  the 
timid  by  their  fears,  the  profligate  by  their  love 
of  adventure,  and  thousands  of  .nobler  natures 
by  motives  which  we  can  all  understand ;  whose 
delusion  we  pity  as  we  ought  always  to  pity 
the  error  of  those  who  know  not  what  they  do. 
Against  him  or  for  him  we  are  all  called  upon  to 
declare  ourselves.  There  is  no  neutrality  for 
any  single  true-born  American.  If  any  seek 
such  a  position,  the  stony  finger  of  Dante's 
awful  muse  points  them  to  their  place  in  the 
antechamber  of  the  Halls  of  Despair,  — 


THE  INEVITABLE    TRIAL.  465 

—  "  with  that  ill  band 

Of  angels  mixed,  who  nor  rebellious  proved, 
Nor  yet  were  true  to  God,  but  for  themselves 
Were  only."  — 

—  "  Fame  of  them  the  world  hath  none 
Nor  suffers;  mercy  and  justice  scorn  them  both. 
Speak  not  of  them,  but  look,  and  pass  them  by." 

We  must  use  all  the  means  which  God  has 
put  into  our  hands  to  serve  him  against  the  ene 
mies  of  civilization.  We  must  make  and  keep 
the  great  river  free,  whatever  it  costs  us  ;  it  is 
strapping  up  the  forefoot  of  the  wild,  untama 
ble  rebellion.  We  must  not  be  too  nice  in  the 
choice  of  our  agents.  Non  eget  Mauri  jaculis,  — 
no  African  bayonets  wanted,  —  was  well  enough 
while  we  did  not  yet  know  the  might  of  that 
desperate  giant  we  had  to  deal  with  ;  but  Tros, 
Tyrimve,  —  white  or  black,  —  is  the  safer  motto 
now  ;  for  a  good  soldier,  like  a  good  horse,  can 
not  be  of  a  bad  color.  The  iron-skins,  as  well 
as  the  iron-clads,  have  already  done  us  noble 
service,  and  many  a  mother  will  clasp  the  re 
turning  boy,  many  a  wife  will  welcome  back  the 
war-worn  husband,  whose  smile  would  never 
again  have  gladdened  his  home,  but  that,  cold 

20  *  DD 


466  THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL. 

in  the  shallow  trench  of  the  battle-field,  lies  the 
half-buried  form  of  the  unchained  bondsman 
whose  dusky  bosom  sheaths  the  bullet  which 
would  else  have  claimed  that  darling  as  his 
country's  sacrifice  ! 

We  shall  have  success  if  we  truly  will  success, 

—  not  otherwise.     It  may  be  long  in  coming, 

Heaven  only  knows  through  what  trials  and 
humblings  we  may  have  to  pass  before  the  full 
strength  of  the  nation  is  duly  arrayed  and  led 
to  victory.  We  must  be  patient,  as  our  fathers 
were  patient ;  even  in  our  worst  calamities,  we 
must  remember  that  defeat  itself  may  be  a  gain 
where  it  costs  our  enemy  more  in  relation  to  his 
strength  than  it  costs  ourselves.  But  if,  in  the 
inscrutable  providence  of  the  Almighty,  this 
generation  is  disappointed  in  its  lofty  aspirations 
for  the  race,  if  we  have  not  virtue  enough  to 
ennoble  our  whole  people,  and  make  it  a  nation 
of  sovereigns,  we  shall  at  least  hold  in  undying 
honor  those  who  vindicated  the  insulted  majesty 
of  the  Republic,  and  struck  at  her  assailants  so 
long  as  a  drum-beat  summoned  them  to  the  field 
of  duty. 


THE  INEVITABLE   TRIAL.  467 

Citizens    of  Boston,   sons    and  daughters   of 
New  England,  men  and  women  of  the  North, 
brothers  and  sisters  in  the  bond  of  the  American 
Union,  you   have  among  you  the  scarred  and 
wasted  soldiers  who  have  shed  their  blood  for 
your  temporal  salvation.     They  bore  your  na 
tion's   emblems    bravely    through  the    fire   and 
smoke  of  the  battle-field  ;  nay,  their  own  bodies 
are  starred  with  bullet-wounds  and  striped  with 
sabre-cuts,  as  if  to  mark  them  as  belonging  to 
their  country  until  their  dust  becomes  a  portion 
of   the   soil    which    they   defended.     In    every 
Northern  graveyard  slumber  the  victims  of  this 
destroying  struggle.     Many  whom  you  remem 
ber  playing  as  children  amidst  the  clover-blos 
soms  of  our  Northern  fields,  sleep  under  name 
less  mounds  with  strange  Southern  wild-flowers 
blooming  over  them.     By  those  wounds  of  liv 
ing  heroes,  by  those  graves  of  fallen  martyrs,  by 
the  hopes  of  your  children,  and  the  claims  of 
your   children's    children    yet   unborn,    in    the 
name  of  outraged  honor,  in  the  interest  of  vio 
lated  sovereignty,  for  the  life  of  an  imperilled 
nation,  for  the  sake  of  men  everywhere  and  of 


468  THE  INEVITABLE    TRIAL. 

our  common  humanity,  for  the  glory  of  God  and 
the  advancement  of  his  kingdom  on  earth, 

o  ' 

your  country  calls  upon  you  to  stand  by  her 
through  good  report  and  through  evil  report,  in 
triumph  and  in  defeat,  until  she  emerges  from 
the  great  war  of  Western  civilization,  Queen  of 
the  broad  continent,  Arbitress  in  the  councils 
of  earth's  emancipated  peoples  ;  until  the  flag 
that  fell  from  the  wall  of  Fort  Sumter  floats 
again  inviolate,  supreme,  over  all  her  ancient 
inheritance,  every  fortress,  every  capital,  every 
ship,  and  this  warring  land  is  once  more  a 
United  Nation  ! 


THE    END. 


Cambridge  :    Stereotyped  and  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co. 


135,  OtJasIjfitQton  St.,  Uoston, 
NOVEMBER,  1863. 

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Ticknor  and  Fields.  21 

BOOKS  PUBLISHED  IN  BLUE  AND   GOLD, 

BY 

TICKNOR     AND     FIELDS. 


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22  Works  Published  by  Ticknor  and  Fields. 


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